


A legend to be Told - Book One: Blood of the Dragon

by AussieTransfan2015



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim Romance Mod - Fandom
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, oblivion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AussieTransfan2015/pseuds/AussieTransfan2015
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time about to end, the faults of a Dunmer mage brings a long since dead hero back from the grave. Stripped of memory and name, 'Grey' journeys through Skyrim with her new Dark family in an effort to find her true self. After the attack in Helgen, four years after her return, her plight turns to the dragons and the World Eater himself. New memories found as well as love along the way.</p><p>This include several mods from the Nexus and one particularly close to my heart; The Skyrim Romance Mod. With permission from the Author, the characters and settings from the mod belong to Mara Lightfeather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brought to life

Darkness struggled to hide the inner workings of the night. Twin moons glistened with their veiled aurora dancing between them, reflecting its subtle light onto the frosted lands of the North. Bazthalduk, a long forgotten Dwemer ruin within the Rift, had been left untouched by the world. A volley of hooves and neighs stormed through the haunting silence, scaring wildlife off the worn dirt pathways dotting the Rift. The small entourage charged toward the forgotten ruins, led by a frail old man. Draped in dark robes with a presence that reeked of death and miasma wherever he went. The band of mercenaries and brigands kept close as the old man and their leader stopped before the ruin’s entrance.

“You sure it’s here, Dunmer?” the leader sneered, seeing no Dwemer structures jutting out of the rock like many of the others scattered across Skyrim. The frail mage dismounted his steed, staff in hand like a cane supports a crone; he walked up to the rock face, inspecting the cracks and textures. From his blackened sleeve, his thin hand held a strange ornament; long and cylindrical, the glass container held a strange crystal orb, decorated with etched symbols and markings. The crystal’s light reacted with the rock face; a single beam reached out and latched onto a rune glyph easily missed by strangers. A low, almost inaudible sound muffled behind thick rock triggered a chain reaction; the sounds grew louder until the rocks slid back, revealing a long Dwemer corridor.

“Do not worry, Telgeir. Your riches await you,” the mage chucked, turning his ruby gaze to the Nord and his kin. “And just think, a hideout no one can find.” His final statement was taken with great mirth and agreement from the bandits, and quelled their chief’s concerns. Ushered in, followed by their horse, they found a small area to set up. While two of his men worked the stable, Telgeir and the rest began their clear out. Old bones and cobwebs littered the open rooms, but many sighed with relief as no hazards or dangers were found. Tales of the bleak and fierce Falmer roamed Dwemer ruins, or where large Frostback spiders built their nests. This location showed its worth, secure and perfect for the horde.

The mage, however, found a most interesting room. Within were many scattered stone desks and observation platforms. In its centre was a covered pool of a strange water-like fluid. Stationed overhead was a strange focusing device; adjustable arms with emerald green mirrors, chained in circles around the pool as its focal point. Mounted to the roof, a protruding and mysterious gem cluster speared down, pointing to the fluid and radiated a strange yet unnerving light.

“So, is this the contraption you were looking for?” Telgeir asked, walking in on the mage. He didn’t reply, becoming too involved with his find. He steps echoed on the stone floor to one of the many tables. He discarded his staff and placed his lantern upon it; with care he removed the precious sphere from within and spied its housing. The pedestal overlooked the pool, surrounded by smaller stations covered buttons, levers and switches. The larger of the gathering shared markings similar to those on the sphere. He used the finest of care to replace the orb, twisting and rolling it until the symbols met. It grew brighter once settled, power leaped and licked through the air as its dormant power erupted. The pedestal activated, draining the surge of energy, and fuelled the massive relic. The pool’s covering disappeared into the floor as it rose up, revealing its true shape in the form of a large glass tub. The golden Dwemer metal wrapped with a craftsmen’s care, holding a crystalline glass much like the ceiling’s cluster. It too took the haunting glow of its overhanging cousin, illuminating the water. More Dwemer metal fittings speared out from the walls, hooking to the tub and covered the gaps in a transparent glass pathway, assessable by a convenient set of stone steps.

“At last, the Well of Souls is mine,” the mage smirked; he tested and experimented with the extra controls, pleased to find his controls for the focusing mirrors. “Now, with some minor experimentation, the Great House Dagoth shall return to reclaim its rightful place! And I, Seldrandyn Vath, shall be at its head!”

“Damn Dunmer,” Telgeir hissed, heading back out into their new headquarters, “So long as you keep up your end of the bargain,” leaving the eccentric Dunmer to his work, he focused on his men and refurbishing the place.

“Oh, and Telgeir,” Seldrandyn called, annoying the Nord further, “Best prepare a dump site, there will be many failures on my path to greatness.”

 It was strange, this sensation running the length of her body. It wasn’t there before. It was like…she was floating, wet and cold. Muffled voices echoed with a painful bellow, causing her to cringe at the sheer volume. Something hard and curved wrapped around her, pulling her up of out of wet but became all the colder, like ice biting and ripping her flesh. Eyes twitched and struggled to open under her own strength. She felt so weak, but why? Why was she so weak? And…where was she? It was different from before…whatever ‘before’ was. Better yet…who was she? No name came to mind despite a phantom’s efforts to tell her. Somewhere in the shroud of her mind, something was there but held out of her reach.

Summoning the strength to move, a heavy feeling exploded in her chest, water gushing past her lips and coughed out onto the cold floor. Heaving and choking the last drops in her lungs, she tried adjusting her vision to the bright lights surrounding her. The loud voices dulled, becoming clearer but still inaudible. Her main focus was calming her burning chest and violent coughing.

In her daze, she didn’t fight the hand grasping her chin. Forced to look up, the arguing voices had taken shape – 2 men, one older than the other held her chin. Tilting it from side to side, as if inspecting livestock. The old man gave a discontented huff.

“Nord. Another failure,” the voice sneered, dropping her face as she tried to stand.

“She’s alive, ain’t she? Better than the last hundred bodies you…magicked up with this thing,” the second retorted, making no move to help her. Hundred? There were others before her? And taking his words, none survived. What horrors were these two reeking? Looking down, she could see the floor was clear, showing a room below. Looking back, she saw the water she had been in just moments before, a long cylindrical tank connected this floor to the room below.

“Perhaps, an improvement,” the elder mulled, shuffling back to her. His gaze took in her hair; spindle thin dark fingers clawed the contrasting silk. “Too young to have such silver hair.”

“Who cares? Do you want her or not? I can put her to good use,” she didn’t like that tone. Memories may have been lost but meaning wasn’t. To her sharpening mind, it was clear these two meant harm or worse. Her eyes cleared, now able to identify these unsavoury aggressors. The elder, his skin was midnight blue with eyes like blazing rubies with the age of time slowly crawling in. Dunmer, a dark elf, came to her mind from the veiled haze. The other, much younger by comparison, had the same pale skin she had but scruffy blonde hair topped his brow. Coarse flesh and heavy armour pulled over toned muscles, making him a formidable sight. If he was like her, then he was a Nord too.

“Very well. Consider her a reward for your efforts as of late. Do what you will,” The elder seemed knowledgeable while carnal interests drove the other. She needed answers and perhaps she could get them before hell drew her in.

“N…Na….” her voice was strained and unpractised, still sore from coughing up water, but it was loud enough to catch their attention.

“She can speak?” the Nord questioned, surprised by her feat.

“Barely, speak up!” the Dunmer demanded, standing before her.

“M…my…my name…?” controlling her voice, she managed to get her question across but presumed more than she received.

“I don’t know, nor do I care Nord. Telgeir, take your whore out so I can get back to work.” Whore. She knew that word, and it both chilled her to the bone thinking about being forced into such acts, and ignited a wildfire of rage. How dare he put her through Divines know what and just cast her aside. If she couldn’t get her answers, they would still pay for their actions.

Pulling her arm back, she wrenched a sword from the Nord’s belt and swung hard. The Dunmer gasped; the blade had sliced through his back, crunching through solid bone while his blood came gushing out of the wound. The Nord had little time to react before she turned on him. This time she swung in a large arc, separating his head from his body. Blood painted her bare form, staining her hair red and dripping from her stolen sword. Blood covering it fell from her grasp to the ground by her feet. Strange, the deaths of these men, however despicable they were, didn’t affect her. She looked over the unfortunates lying dead on the floor and felt nothing. There was a void within her, or it felt like one. Her mind brought instant realisation: ‘they would’ve hurt you, so you stopped them’.

Steadying her legs, she looked about until her eyes fell on a staircase leading into the bottom room. The room had scattered tables piled with paper, charcoal and books. Only one seemed to stand out, sitting in an organized clutter where different scribbles on mounds of paper. She couldn’t make much sense of anything except the small pieces of gold spilling from a drawstring bag. Collecting them, she walked out into the rest of the ruins. Her feet made scarce sounds as she moved with a shade’s step in the gloom. The next room she came across had two men sleeping: one on an ancient-looking bed, the other on the floor on a bedroll. Not wishing to deal with them in case she was discovered, she found a small blade lying on a small bedside table. Easily taking it, she was surprised by the instincts she summoned, slicing through the sleeping men’s throats. Leaving the dagger, she moved on. It was strange to kill and yet feel nothing for the act; no regret or sorrow, but no joy or exhilaration either. Just…numbness.

The next room brought more promise. A treasury of some kind, it was piled with different odds and ends. Silk rolls to gold, jewellery to armour and countless other trinkets and materials. No doubt it would be fruitless to leave without some form of security, given the current company. Finding a small pouch nearby, she began filling it with the smallest of baubles she could trade later. She came to notice that the more she placed in the bag, the less it felt heavy. Strange, she inspected the bag by quietly dumping its contents, only to find it held not only her stolen goods but a book, an ornate dagger, circlet and cloak – all of which too large to even fit in the small bag. Taking the book, she only spared moments to flip its contents to find it was enchanted, capable of holding just about anything except for living beings.

Taking opportunity again, she took larger and more valuable treasures until she was satisfied with her hold. She left the cloak for last, wrapping it around her nude body and hid her silvered hair so not to grab unwanted attention and avoid any more violence. Before leaving, she took what looked like a simple dress, tucking it into her arms as she crept through the remaining tunnels.

Entering a larger room, the exit harboured on the far side, however it was occupied with at least 4 well-armoured men. Cursing her luck, she kept to the shadows while they laughed and drank deep from their tankards. Whines and nickered caught her ear, finding a number of horses tied to a post just before the entrance. A quick getaway if she could get to one unseen. A distraction was needed, one large enough to get all their attention.

Bending down, she picked up a rock on the ground. Moving to a pillar she reared back, catapulting the rock across the room. Striking the far wall, the noise caught the circle’s attention. All but one of the armoured men moved to investigate, the last keeping watch but allowed her a more manageable escape. Creeping up to him, he fell lax as she struck down on his neck, burying her dagger with a sharp twist. His corpse posed to avoid early detection; nothing could stop her from untying a horse and pulling it out. Calming the beast, it followed her out of the cave.

The tack and bridle were still fastened to the steed, making the trip easier overall. In no direction in particular, she simply made off where the horse took her. It was apparent the horse was given little care as the first stop it made was to water. A large lake spanned out before them once the horse trotted to a stop. Sliding from the saddle, it was as good a place as any to wash the blood off of her. Finding a small and deep inlet, placing the dress and belongings upon a nearby rock, she slipped into the cool afternoon waters and set to work washing the blood from her.

A rustle from the bushes caught her attention. Combing through her long white locks, a wolf growled and eyed her. Locking stares, she held her ground and the wolf held his. Her crystalline, amethyst-ringed, aquamarine eyes dared the beast to try and make a meal from her. Slowly, the wolf stepped forward but not towards her but to the water’s edge beside her. There was no hostility from the wolf, just the need to take a drink from the water. Continuing her bath, she watched as the wolf eyed her, though not daring to approach her.

Sudden movement in the water caught her eye, snapping her arms up at the object; a slaughter fish was sent sailing from its watery roost to the shore. Vulnerable and flailing in death throws, the wolf took the opportunity and seized the fish, taking it as its meal and leaving her to wash.

Once clean, she dried herself with a stolen pelt and changed into the dress. A little revealing and something a tavern wench would probably wear, it was all she had so little could be complained about. Painstaking but necessary to ensure she didn’t have to clean her hair on a daily basis, she carefully weaved and twisted her silver locks into tight dreadlocks. Tying the long braided locks into a large ponytail, she climbed back onto her stolen horse. She watched as the wolf trotted off, forgetting she was even there and more interested in its opportunistic meal. Sighing, she urged the horse onwards in the hopes of finding shelter for the night.

Just as the sun began to set, she found her shelter. Silver hair pulled back, she dismounted her horse and moved towards the stables of a large walled town. The owner of the stable looked about ready to fall asleep, fortuitous for her.

“Good Ser,” she approached, leading the horse with her. The man perked up, his attention drawn to her. “I wish to sell this horse, I won’t have need for it after I enter the city.”

“Looks like a fine breed. I’ll give you the price I sell the horses for. 1000 septims,” he nodded, not too concerned nor caring of her reaction to his price. That is until she placed the reins in his hands.

“Deal.” Surprised, half expecting her to contest and barter the price. Not arguing either, the stable owner gave her the septims and watched her leave. The gate was far from welcoming; two guards stood at their posts, heavily armed and looked bored enough to start something.

“Hold there, Traveller. Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor’s tax,” though his helmet covered his face, she could hear the snide and distasteful tone. Raising an eyebrow, she looked to the other guard. He did nothing but stare back, moving his hand to his sword when she did nothing in return. Whether glaring at the pair would help her situation, it was still her answering reaction.

“What, may I ask, is this tax for?” she asked, unimpressed with their standing. No matter their answer she knew it was either fuelled on greed or extortion.

“For the privilege of entering the city, of course. What does it matter to you, old wench?” the second sneered, believing his insult had the same bite as a viper. Sadly, it barely made a dent on her.

“She doesn’t look old, you fool,” his partner hissed, his eyes rolling over her.

“She has silver hair!” Came his argument but was quashed by his partner, waving his off. But his comment left lasting effect. ‘Grey’, now that was familiar. Something from her past, maybe?

“All must pay before they enter Riften,” the head guard sneered, turning back to her. “You consider yourself different?” his challenging tone was left unheeded and held little effect on her. No doubt hoping they would intimidate her through numbers. She thought otherwise.

“I wonder what your captain will think, should I find him within, that his men are shaking down poor weary travellers, coming to this fine city in the hopes of finding safe harbour?” she retorted, waiting to see their response while magic weaved through her fingers at a moment’s notice. Both looked to the other, their small gestures not lost to her keen gaze before they turned back.

“Alright, alright, no need to get the Captain,” the guard whispered, approaching the city gate. He pulled out a small key and unlocked the heavy wooden doors. She turned away to spy a small coin purse on the other guard. Taking advantage of his distraction, she easily sliced through the bag’s strap with an ethereal dagger. Catching it before it could make a noise; the guard was none the wiser.

“There, the gate is open,” his companion announced, missing the entire theft. “Now…move along.” She smiled, slipping her hand down to steal his pouch too while distracting him with a kiss.

“How kind you are, good Ser,” she cooed, sauntering into the city. She took note of the jealous growl his partner made, shaking her head in mirth while she weighed the gold. The guards must be paid well here as both held a sum of 400 gold septims. Pleased with her find, and how she seemed natural with her honeyed words. She headed to the local inn for a good meal and a bed for the night. Stepping inside the Bee and the Bard, she strides to the innkeeper an aged lizard, with a nice enough smile, watched her approach.

“Not from around here, girl,” she stated, her voice deep and grating. “If you’re not here to spend septims, then get out,” blunt but from the lack of customers, she could guess it was a reasonable demand.

“Actually, I’d like to buy a meal and something to drink… a bed too if you have one.” Dropping the coin purse onto the bench, the lizard woman smiled. Pointing to an empty table, she went to sit just as the lizard placed a large plate of cooked meat, vegetables and a full bottle next to it. Whispering a thank you, she dug in. It felt like she hadn’t eaten in ages, almost shovelling the food into her mouth and gulping everything down. The drink wasn’t too bad, a little stiff but it did the job. Enjoying her meal, she paused as a man came before her. He was a simple man, dressed in simple clothes. He said nothing, but placed a small letter before her and left.

Strange. Why would anyone leave her a note? Better yet, who knew her to leave a note for her? Curious, she took the note and found only a black handprint. Something snapped inside her, something about this print is familiar, something that sang and screamed in her soul, but became muted when it reached her mind. She couldn’t recall from where this mark was known, but she turned to the note below. ‘We Know’. Knew what? Confusing as this was, there was nothing she could do until these mysterious messengers found her.

Full and satisfied, she looked to the other lizard in the inn, who proceeded to show her upstairs to her room for the night. Thanking him, she fell flat onto the mass of fur pelts and soft down, falling asleep as her head hit the bed, her thoughts still lingering on the man’s offer.

It was during the night that something woke her. She remained still as the door was picked and opened, someone quietly walked towards her. Drawing the dagger held under her pillow, she lashed out at the intruder.

The intruder moved, dodging the blade and held a distance while her supposed victim crouched on the bed.

“Who are you? And why are you here?” she demanded, glaring at the shrouded figure.

“Calm yourself, my dear.” Soft and thick was the female’s voice. Sickly sweet and tempered as she removed her hood and cowl. Long blonde hair came out and contrasted against the black of her outfit. Her sharp eyes stared her down but it was her viper’s smile that put her on edge. “And such a kill. I had been hunting that Mage for quite some time. Such a shame bandits aren’t as skilled in covering their tracks as he was.”

“What does that bastard have to do with me?” watching the woman, she took a seat and crossed her legs, as if she was meant to be there. Her eyes keeping their amused shine.

“Why, because you killed him. A kill stolen really must be dealt with.” The woman drawled, making notes of the woman crouched on the bed. “But you do seem capable. Let me tell you what, repay the kill and do well, and perhaps I might be able to help you.”

“Help me how? I don’t even know you, or your name,” a soft chuckle came from the woman, her amused eyes twinkling.

“My name is Astrid my dear, if that will quell such curiosity. But what of you, it’s only fair to exchange a name for another,” she was taken aback by the answer and its subsequent request. She hadn’t counted the woman to give her a name, regardless if it was her true name or not. But it did present her with a challenge. What was her own name? Even with the vivid dreams and crossing unfamiliar realms in her sleep, she still couldn’t conjure her own name, but an idea struck her.

“Grey…call me Grey,” she replied, no sense in delaying. It had more meaning than any name she could conjure. He did seem upset or concerned if that was her name or not, but she refused to sob to every stranger and say she lacked her memory.

“Very well, Grey~” her name rolled from the woman’s tongue, though caused her no discomfort. If anything, her drawl brought a strange warming. “Now, let us discuss your repayment, hmm?” moving to a chair in the room, she soothed down onto the seat while pulling out a small scroll. Grey, feeling right with her new name, approached this Astrid but maintained a taut grip on her dagger. “This is your target – Grelod the Kind. A woman here in Riften whom has been targeted by a young boy, Aventus Aretino.”

“A child?” it was hard to believe an innocent could ask the death of another. But surely there was a reason?

“Indeed. But Grelod is hardly a kind woman,” Astrid continued to explain this hag was a cruel woman who owned an orphanage. She recalled the woman’s cruelty and the number of children still in her care. Sharp eyes glanced to Grey, smiling at the sight of anger and rage rising in her. “Kill her however you see, and your debt will be paid. I will be watching, perhaps if I find your kill…satisfactory, there might be more I can offer.”

Slipping into the shadows she had emerged from, Astrid was gone. Grey pondered the offer, and there was an…aura around the woman that seemed so familiar to her. Still, it was a chance to find allies and perhaps…some idea of who she was.

Leaving the room and tavern, her footfalls silent and swift, Grey moved toward the orphanage. All was still, but a locked door separated her from her target. Cursing under her breath, a snap of images crossed the back of her clenched eyelids. There was a word, light dancing over her fingers and the tell-tale click of an open lock. Opening her eyes again, Grey realized the door was now ajar, the lock seeming to have opened itself. Welcoming her into the dark house, Grey crept inside; one large room was lined with small beds, each housing a small child. Some had buried themselves into the thin warmth of their blankets, hiding small but obvious injuries. Her blood boiled, no child should suffer like that. Finding another room, it houses a young woman, but Astrid had said Grelod was a crone, an older woman – this couldn’t be her. Moving on to the last room, a large and extravagant room for one living in Riften, inside was an old woman, reading in the candle light. Scribbling in a large book, her cracked cackle broke the silence.

“Another profitable day. Those urchins will fetch a pretty penny before I send them to the gutters,” she smirked, pulling a large pouch of gold coins, spilling out its contents onto the table. “I might need to charge for whippings too, those slackers move to slow and I don’t need that Maven Blackbriar getting on my back.” The more she spoke, the higher Grey’s blood boiled. She dared to treat these innocents so harshly, forcing them to work and to dare strike them? The candle left little shadows in the room for her to hide, and an invisibility spell wouldn’t hide her shadow. Keeping low, she drew her blade and held her breath. Moving quick, her blade passed through the crone’s flesh, disappearing through her chest and gliding across her throat. Gagging on blood pouring from her neck and chest, the crone slumped and grew still.

“Well Done~” Defensive, Grey turned to the new form in the room. Astrid peered through the window, memorising and noting the intricate pattern the crone’s blood painted on the wall. “Not very creative but she did see you coming, a skill indeed~” waving her hand, Astrid ushered Grey out through the window and away from the building, in case any guards might come across them. “You’ve completed your end of the bargin, the debt is repaid. I do, however, find myself in need of a new recruit, and you have just the skills I am looking for in such a recruit.” Her ice white hand curled, stroking Grey’s cheek. Her grip tightened around her bloody blade, but remained still as Astrid purred. “What do you say? Do you wish to join my little family?”

Pausing, Grey weighed her options. Parting ways here, without her memory or familiarity of this land she wouldn’t get far. Being a part of this family would give her the security, safety and activity to keep her from being too idle. Yet, this Astrid seemed to have an alternate agenda, something about her screamed control and command. She could prove to be an annoyance more than a help but, as she sorted her options, the need for company and guidance outweighed the rest.

“What do I have to lose?” a question for a question, disguised as an answer. Astrid smiled and, with a flick of her wrist and a gentle touch wrapping Grey’s free hand, the pair slipped into the night and out of the Rift. Come morning, the frightened howl of panic and shock were all the evidence of their nightly act.

 


	2. Four years pass

Grey didn’t particularly like going to the Nord city – Windhelm. The manner which the hold’s Jarl and people mistreated Dunmer and Argonians – or anyone who isn’t a Nord – was deplorable to say the least. But she admired the Jewelled Goblet held in her hands as she ushered Duneyrr on. It was somewhat dubious to use the grief the Shatter-shield clan were suffering to gain entrance to their home but it was hardly her concern. She had her contract to act out, killing their only remaining daughter was hardly a care to a weapon. Muiri had been adamant she kill the young Shatter-shield girl after slaying her jilted lover.

Discarding those thoughts, she replaced the goblet to her pack to focus on stirring Duneyrr, swashing her thick black cloak back over. The large white stag had been a rather interesting and strange companion she had come across. Camping in the wilds near Falkreath one cold night, she had come across the animal injured and at the mercy of a wolf pack. She couldn’t bear to watch or let such a proud animal to perish. The wolves went hunger that night as only their corpus remained. Using a little restoration magic, she had intended to leave but as she returned to her camp, he followed. Never left at a stable, she would let him roam whatever forest they were close to until she needed him.

Fixing her black pauldrons and ebony chest plate; shifting the cloak to fight back the chill, the Pale felt colder this time of year especially for a Nord. The sole reason they had taken the route through the Pale was to collect the bounty on a giant at Blizzard’s Rest. Finding the encampment was a simple matter, but taking down a giant was a difficult task…if they saw you coming. Grey prided herself on her skills in stealth. Managing to climb a rocky outcrop close to the encampment, she loaded an arrow into her Nightingale Bow. Watching as its enchantment wrapped and warped the arrow as she took aim, she slowed her breath and waited for the perfect opening. The moment the giant stopped to watch its mammoths, the arrow flew from her fingers. Its soft whistle against the wind caused him to turn, unprepared for the arrow to bury deep into his skull. Falling back, the body crumpled and buckled before shaking the ground on impact.

Happy with her kill, leaping from the rock with her cloak flaring like wings, she approached the corpse and collected proof to present to Jarl Skald the Elder. Collecting said bounty wasn’t a real priority and Whiterun was closer than Dawnstar. Mounting Duneyrr again, she urged him toward the large capital. Down the slight hill, she passed a small farm before the main road came into view, as well as a large cart. Coming to a slow walk, Grey pulled her hood back to see a strange and frustrated Imperial dressed as a jester. He was screaming and yelling at the broken cart wheel, muttering something about his mother and getting to her new home.

“Sir, do you need assistance?” she asked, slipping from Duneyrr and pulling her cowl down. The jester paused, turning to her with a crazed and angry look to him.

“Argh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here. Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!!” the jester warbled, angered and kicking the broken wheel.

“Sir!” Her snap broke the jester’s rant, causing him to look at her. “Do you require assistance?”

“Oh! Oh~ yes! Kind lady, poor Cicero is stuck,” he mused, indicating to the cart and the very large crate it was carrying. “I was transporting my dear, sweet mother…well, not her. Her corpse! She’s quite…dead.” The cheeriness by which he spoke of his mother, both highly and with mirth, wasn’t what any sane person would say about their mother. It was obvious that he wasn’t right in the head. “I’m taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But…argh!! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel!! It broke! Don’t you see?”

“Yes I can see that,” Grey hissed, getting a rather unnerving feeling from the crate, she focused solely on Cicero. “Why not ask the farmers for assistance?”

“Oh but I did! Cicero begged Loreius to help, to use his tools to fix my wagon but no. No! He won’t! He refuses!” Now angered further, his glares and spits in the direction of the farm. “Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!” despite her better judgement, Grey wasn’t one to refuse someone in need. Looking to the farm, she walked the steep incline toward the farmhouse, finding Loreius standing at his porch and his wife tending the field.

“Oh, for the love of Mara. What now?” he demanded, watching Grey approach him.

“I was informed by the…jester down the road that he requires your aid fixing a broken wheel,” she tried being polite, but the sneer both Loreius and his wife gave her spoke volumes of their tolerance.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Loreius scoffed, crossing his arms. “Crazy fool’s already asked me about five times. Seems he’s not satisfied with my answer. Why can’t he just leave us alone?” Grey glared back at this selfish man’s response.

“Maybe because he needs help. And if you do then he will leave, perhaps even pay you for your time,” again she was met with a glare, along with his wife interrupting.

“You think this is about money?” she asked, as if insulted by the notion.

“Have you seen the man? He’s completely out of his head,” Loreius spared a glance down the road, looking down as Cicero paced and kicked his broken wheel. “A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain’t been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years.”

“He just wants to bury his mother. What is so wrong about that?” Grey hissed, causing both to flinch. If they thought number would intimidate her, they hadn’t faced hordes of Draugr before.

“So he says,” his wife snapped again. “How do we know that?”

“He could have anything in there. War Contraband. Weapons. Skooma. Ain’t no way I’m getting involved in any of that.”

“And you have the gall to speak of Mara like that without so much as following her teachings,” Grey hissed, recalling his earlier comment. Only devout followers of the Divines would ever use their names like that, and he was obviously a follower of Mara. “I’ll pay for the tools then and fix the cart myself.”

“What? No!” Loreius snapped, “I told you I’m not getting involved. He’s guilty of something and I want no part.” Rolling her eyes, she just turned on her heel and left but not before catching something Loreius said. “Where’s that guard when you need him, we’ll tell him that jester did something wrong, that’ll get rid of him.” Angered further, Grey made a beeline for Cicero and the cart.

“Poor mother…she’s been waiting here so long…stupid farmer and his stupid tools! Why won’t he help us?” Cicero hissed, looking up to see Grey returning. Before he could ask anything of her, he watched as magic licked and swirled from her fingers. Commanding the energies of Aetherius, Grey was able to alter the state of the wheel, repairing the break and ensuring it wouldn’t happen again. “Oh. Oh!! Oh kind and generous lady! So kind to help Cicero and his poor mother! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you!”

“It was nothing, but I suggest you both move on before Loreius finds the guard patrolling this road. He had intended to give a false accusation toward you committing a crime.” The look on Cicero’s face turned from happy celebration to a dark hate.

“He…what?!! How…how dare he!” off again on another rant, Grey simply bid the Jester farewell and was off. Passing the coffin, she couldn’t stop herself from being drawn to it. Something felt like it was reaching out to her, wanting her to come close. Stopping Duneyrr a moment, she placed a hand on the crate. She felt something, something familiar but what it was she couldn’t place. Fearful and confused, she removed her hand and urged her steed onward.

Whiterun was always a welcoming sight for her. Despite being the Thane for a number of holds, Whiterun would always be the place she called home. Riften was nice and all since the thieves there repected her for helping with their treacherous Guildmaster – Brynolf, the new guildmaster, had offered her a place with them but she refused; conflict of interest after all but she wasn’t above accepting jobs from them. Falkreath promised perfect hunting grounds, and the people were all nice enough save for the young Jarl Siggeir. Dawnstar was also nice and quiet, small and pleasant. Even now she wonders if killing the priest Erandur was the right thing to do, but he had deceived her from the beginning. If there was one thing she hated, it was people lying to her and using her.

Before she could enter Dragonsreach, a courier approached her with a letter from Astrid. Instructing, once she returned to Muiri was the good news, she was to go to Helgen and kill some Imperial soldier. Astrid had already spoken to the contact and accepted the payment. A task often she would take given she accepted the payment, but seeing as Grey was already travelling, what was one more stop before home? Sighing, missing out on a pleasant rest for once, she headed back out to Duneyrr and headed to Helgen.

Faster than any horse and rode easier without the need of barding and tack, he was the perfect steep for the agile Nord. He bleated and nickered on her approach, nuzzling into her welcoming hug before bowing his head, allowing her to grab his horns. With a stiff neck, he lifted her onto his back, his considerable size hampering her mounting.

They rode into the night, the moonlight their guide. Grey was thankful the Vampires and Werewolves often plaguing the roads had decided to take respite as they blazed through. A few wolves hindered their path but swift strikes from her blade and bow did the trick, setting the wolves off in fear of death.

The journey to Markarth took most of the night, arriving at the Dwemer built walls left an eerie sense at night rather than the day. As if walking into a graveyard rather than a city. Still, Grey had a job to do. Slipping through the doors, she decided on the long route to Muiri. Ever since investigating that abandoned house – discovering it was a shrine to Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of Subjugation and Rape – Grey avoided it like a plague. The entire time she had aided the Prince, whether out of collecting the artefact or out for her own life, the way the deep harrowing voice spoke to her, as if it were trying to lull and sooth her, an attempt to trick her into lowering her guard. True the tales of the Prince’s escapades along with the origin of his vampirism, the way he spoke to her held a note of…familiarity, as if they had met before.

Shaking the unnerving thought, she slipped through the quiet streets to where Muiri promised to wait. In a small side cove, Grey spotted the nervous woman in the gloom. Raising her hand, a small mage light flickered to life and caught Muiri’s attention. Soothed at seeing the ebony clad assassin, she approached with a purse in hand.

“So…is it?” she asked, watching Grey pull her cloak aside and open one of her bandolier’s pouches. Within, she produced a lock of hair and a small ring. The ring she took from Alain – the ring Muiri had given to him – and the hair was from Nilsine. “Oh good. Now they’ll know exactly how I feel.” Her hiss dulled as she handed over the payment as well as an extra token; an enchanted ring and a discount at her apothecary. With the matter concluded, Grey fled the city to make as much time to get to Helgen…on the other side of Skyrim.

By the time the sun rose, Duneyrrhad fallen into a canter as they approached Helgen’s gate. Grey was tired, she had to stay up most of the night to ensure Duneyrr was safe from attacks and that he didn’t stray off. But the time for sleep would have to come later, she had a contract to fulfil.

Stopping a little ways away, she left her wild stead near the trees – many would not understand how she could own such a beast and the risk of hunters hurting him was too great to chance. Hushing his nervous whines, she left for the village alone. Allowed passage, she was surprised to see the buzzing activity so early in the morning. Whispers of an execution soon to be held did not bode well for the master thief. Keeping her head low and eyes forward, she searched for the Imperial guard. Coming up behind the inn, she spotted her target; the contract had given quite a few details; Imperial as they came, a long scar down on eye with four scratches across his other cheek – apparently he raped the contact’s sister. Revenge contracts were always the best. They were easy to manipulate. She had to move quickly; stripping out of the light forged ebony mail, she slipped into a tavern maid garb. A gift from Gabriella on an earlier contract, dyed black and red for obvious reasons.

As the guard passed, she quickly gained his attention with her body draped over a wall. Raising her skirt, revealing as much milky skin as she could, she unclasped her shoulder straps to allow a quick glance at her virtue beneath. Like a fish to bait, the guard glanced about for his chance. Charging toward her retreating form, moving behind the building, he had little time to enjoy her before a dagger sank into his throat. Silenced, Grey removed the blade and buried it deep into his chest. Gargling, the guard fell dead at her feet. Quickly changing back into her armour, Grey left the body to rot, but not without relieving his valuables. Disappointing however, finding only a minimal wage and a bottle of Cyrodilic brandy. Dumping the bottle, it was a horrid swill after all; how imperials drank the vile brew was anyone’s guess.

Walking out from behind the inn, hood up and cowl hiding her face, she spotted carts driven by Imperial soldiers roll through, unloading Stormcloak rebels ready for the headsman's block. Glancing about, she sneered at the familiar garbs of the Thalmor overlooking the escort. Typical, more politics and boot kissing. The civil war was getting out of hand, but allowed for plenty of contracts for her family. Seeing enough of the spectical, Grey moved to the village walls when a sudden roar echoed over them, rumbling through the town.

“What was that?” a boy asked, looking all around the village for the answer with his family. Grey froze. That roar, she had heard that very same roar in her dreams. But what it was and why she knew it she couldn’t say, but the black hulking mass that flew over the mountainside spelt their doom.

“DRAGON!!” a Breton screamed, fleeing in terror as the beast landed on one of the tower posts. Its very roar called forth a storm and his breath rippled with flames. Grey tried to run  to safety but watched in horror as a Breton was crushed under the falling rubble and another Imperial soldier was taken off as the dragon swooped over, disappearing down the beast’s gullet.

“Over here!!” called a voice. Looking over to one of the towers Grey saw the prisoners free and calling her over to cover. Finding no sense in ignoring the offer, she ran to the tower. Running across the threshold, Grey helped slam the door shut, closing off their existence to the dragon, and gave them time to catch their breath. “Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?” the man gasped, trying to quell his racing heart. “Could the legends by true?” Grey gave them little notice, straightening herself out and hoped Duneyrrwas safe.

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” the older Nord drawled, looking over her and catching her eye. Grey didn’t like the way he stared at her; like he couldn’t decide if he liked what he saw or if he was suspicious of her. The latter was her preferred look, consciously tugging her hood further over her head. His focus soon moved from her as the chaos outside soared. “Now we need to move! Up through the tower, let’s go!” Taking the lead, Grey ran up the cobblestone stairs to the second level, but something caught her ear: a feint hiss growing as they travelled upward. Grabbing onto both the Jarl and his second, the dragon’s black maw crashed through the stone-built wall and claimed an unlucky soldier in a torrent of flames. Those few moments grew tense, waiting for the dragon retreated from the damaged wall. Grey sprung forth and jumped to the damaged inn on the other side, falling through the roof. Her cape splayed out like black wings, helping her sail to the ground.

“Keep going, we’ll follow when we can!” called the second. Grey ignored him and ran out of the burning building. Now down to the ground level, the dragon flew over again and now threatened not just the rebelling soldiers but also a young boy. Sprinting past the Imperial Legate, she snatched the boy up just as the beast dropped to its haunches. A torrent of flames billowed from the beast’s gullet, almost searing Grey’s back as she skidded behind cover. Dousing the lingering flames from her back, she could’ve sworn the dragon had spoken – saying something in a language she knew…but from where, and why? Hefting his bulk back into the air, the resulting gust blew Grey’s hood from her head, exposing her silver locks and amethyst-ring aqua eyes. Little did it matter once she checked the boy was alright.

“Hemming! You alright?” one of the Imperial soldier asked, taking the boy from her. She had to leave; she had to find Duneyrr. Leaving the boy with the soldier, she was about to run out when another – the records’ keeper at the execution – grabbed her arm.

“You weren’t one of the prisoners, and you’re not a villager,” Hadvar, as she had heard the guard cry, stared at her intently as if to disseminate who she was – as if. “You can’t go back out there alone! Keep close to me if you want to stay that way!" He turned to his comrade without seeing Grey glare daggers at him. Fixing her cowl over her mouth and nose, hoping to keep herself from inhaling the fire’s smog - there was no point replacing her hood with the dragon kicking up the heated air. "Gunnar! Take the boy! I have to find general Tullius and join in the defence." Gunnar nodded and shouted a blessing before Hadvar took off with Grey in tow.

The menacing vigil in the skies above swooped and bellowed to his heart’s content. How he relished the chaos and torment he wrought on the mortals. Their screams and cries like liquid ambrosia on his ears and the taste of raw and burn flesh on his tongue fuelled his rampage further. With the roaring wind carrying his bulk, it carried with it not just the billowing smoke and heat of the flames, but an accursed scent. His eyes grew wide, disbelieving the scent his senses caught. It was impossible; this scent could not exist, its owner had been dead longer than this realm had been alive.

Frantic, the colossus perched his bulk onto a straining tower. Ignoring the feeling of arrows scratching his jagged hide while he tried to pinpoint the wretched source of the scent. But what surprised him was this scent carried the faint trace of a female **_dov_**. His aged sight took in the battlefield, searching for his target. A wisp of silver slipped by the corner of his eyes, moving toward one of the only buildings still standing. Watching as the human turned into his line of sight, rage billowed within him. He knew that silver appearance: the crystalline in her eyes, the haunting white in her pale complexion and braided hair. She held the scent; no doubt her blood was just as strong.

Below, Grey wanted nothing more than anything to leave, but in the midst of a crisis these two idiot examples of men were arguing semantics and sides while a dragon was killing their kin left and right.

“Ralof! You damn traitor, out of my way!” Hadvar snapped, brandishing his blade as Ralof, Ulfric’s second, ran up to the stone keep.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar, you’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof growled, gripping his own blade.

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Grey had had enough of their quarrelling, moving to leave them to their fate when the hulking beast swooped overhead. Its maw a wide gape and a voice, booming from the winged beast, Grey had never thought she would hear beyond her dreams.

" **Gaas fron do Sotzinvahlok!!!!** ( _Filthy kin of (White Honor Guardian_ )" It screamed, landing on a crumbling bridge, blocking her retreat. “ **Hi fen ni filok, mal joor baanahk. Zu'u fent siir hin dinok, zeyda ol Zu'u drey hin tahrodiis bormah!** ( _You will not escape, little mortal scum. I shall claim your death, just as I did your treacherous father_.)” Rage dripped from his lips; his grumbling words heard, and understood, by the stunned Grey. But the nature and meaning of his words are what drove her. Turning back, ignoring their menial arguing, she grabbed both Hadvar and Ralof’s hands and took into the building, only missing the ringing snap of the dragon’s jaws. “ **Hi fen ni FILOK!!** ( _You will not ESCAPE!_ )”

“I don’t know what you did, but I think you made it angrier!” Hadvar cried, running through the stone hallways, escaping each swipe of the dragon’s claws. It dug and burrowed into the structure, trying to reach them but the trio never stopped. Finally, much to their relief, the inner workings of the keep lead into underground caverns, deep enough that the dragon could not follow. Just missing another torrent of flames, Grey stopped a moment as the dragon shouted again,

“ ** _Zu'u fen siiv hi! Joor Dovahkiin!_** ( _I will find you! Mortal Dragonborn_ )” With a final low hiss, the Dragon seemed to retreat from the hold but continued to attack the village. Grey pondered what the winged lizard had meant by **_Dovahkiin_**? But she didn’t have the luxury to wonder as Ralof and Hadvar began to argue again. Their intensity suggesting they were prepared to spill blood. Rolling her eyes, she ignored the men and journeyed further into the caverns.

“Wait, where are you going?!” Ralof cried, silencing Hadvar and drawing their eyes to her.

“You both seem more eager to argue than to escape so I’m leaving you be. I wish to return to the surface before Divines know what lurks here finds us.” Rather casual in her response, she turned and continued forward only catching their own hurried footfalls.

“Then allow us to journey with you. A group is better than being alone,” Hadvar added, but fear clung to his words gave a different story.

“Cowardly milk-drinker,” Ralof sneered, walking a little further ahead. What neither of them noticed was a faint hissing. Grey knew that sound well and drew her bow, an ebony arrow already tense against the bowstring. “We Nords fear nothing.” His words lost meaning when a large Frostback spider dropped from the ceiling, the sickening eerie hisses and gnashing jaws almost claimed Ralof’s head had Grey not shot the menace with the arrow. But as one fell the rest took its place, 6 more of varying size approached the trio in the hopes of a meal. Ralof recovered and drew his blade, Hadvar following. Grey simple returned her bow to her back; the familiar warmth of magical dancing across her fingers became tiny flames. Growing their size, she vaulted her firebolt spells at the approaching arachnids. One thing she had learned from her encounters with these disgusting creatures; fire always resulted in their swift deaths.

The cavern seared and dotted what was left of the spiders. Hadvar and Ralof panted and sighed; glad to be rid of those things. Sheathing their weapons, they flinched as Grey collected the venom from those she could salvage.

“Never liked those things. Too many eyes you know,” Ralof shivered, moving out as Grey finished collecting the venom.

“What’s next? Giant snakes?” Hadvar added, both seemingly unaware they had, for the first time, agreed on something. Shaking her head, a smirk spreading across her lips, they moved further into the caverns. A bear had made its home in the next chamber, but whereas the men wished to sneak around, Grey wanted the pelt. A swift, ethereal dagger buried into its head, it never saw it coming. Gutting and skinning the bear was simple enough, tucking its pelt and claws away into her enchanted pack before following the men out. Cautious steps as they left the cave, looking into the sky for any signs of the dragon. They held bated breath as the black nightmare flew overhead and over the Nordic ruin: Bleak Falls Barrow.

Seeing it’s heading, the daunting feeling of dread crossed her face. Whiterun, one of the few holds where she felt at home. Not long ago she had become the Thane after helping the court mage with a strange Dragon Tablet and aiding the people of the hold. It was a nice place and the thought of that black monstrosity claiming the lives living there was unbearable. Bringing her fingers to her lips, a shrill whistle assaulted their ears.

“Silence! Do you want the beast to find us!” Ralof snapped, hiding behind a boulder while Grey braved the clearing. Hadvar paused to make another snide comment had the rushed hoof falls of a large white stag didn’t freeze before them.

“What? Where are you going?!” Hadvar cried, watching in awe as the stag allowed Grey to mount it, even giving her aid. Sitting comfortably on the stag’s back, she was glad to find Duneyrr unharmed.

“That beast is heading for Whiterun, I must warn my Jarl,” an annoyed growled passed her lips as the two fools began to argue again. “You two can stay here and bicker all you wish or you can get to Riverwood and warn them of the danger.” Urging Duneyrr, the stag took off toward the hold. A white streak amongst the green, they flew right through Riverwood and down the waterfall cliffs. They went by too quickly for the resident mud crabs to catch them, passing any other wildlife in their wake. The tall peaks of Dragonsreach came into view as they crossed the river, tearing down the paths to the gates. With the number of hunters in the city, Grey leaped from Duneyrr and ran for the gates.

“Halt! No one enters the hold, by order of the Jarl!” the guard shouted, seeing her feverish approach.

“Then by order of his Thane, let me pass! I bring word from Helgen and the dragon’s attack!” she snapped, the guards realizing who she was and making all attempts to opening the gate. Racing through, glad it was close to nightfall, Grey ran up the steps of Dragonsreach where more guards held the doors open to her. Irileth spotted her approach and turned to inform Bulgruuf, the Jarl of Whiterun. The Dunmer woman and Grey got along well enough, both knew not to step on other’s toes as they both served the Jarl. A simple nod exchanged as a greeting, Grey turned her attention to the Jarl.

“Thane Grey, what is the matter?” Bulgruuf asked. He was a kind man, loved his people and family. He stepped off his throne to approach the panting woman. Calming her breaths as much as she could, Grey stood weary before the Jarl.

“My Lord, a danger has just attacked and decimated Helgen,” her news surprised the Jarl, falling to his seat to handle the blow. “It flew over Bleak Falls Burrow and made heading toward Whiterun, but I have not seen it since.” Her words were as true as any could muster, but only hope now held the court.

“Irileth, organise the Guard and send them to Riverwood – I will not lose the village to a dragon,” Bulgruff ordered. Nodding, the Dunmer fled with 2 guards at her back. Proventus made his leave as well, leaving the Thane and Jarl to their own devices. Following after the Jarl, they scaled the stairs where they could speak in private. “Speak plainly and honest, Grey, what are we dealing with?” his concern spanned many; she just wished she could have better news.

“It was huge, my lord. Black as a moonless night and eyes like the gates to Oblivion,” she explained. “Only ruin, burns and scars mark Helgen and it may very well do the same here, should it reveal itself.” His worry grew with her words, but their musing ceased when a night watch guard, with Farengar aiding his limping, approached the pair.

“He is a guard from the Western Watchtower, My Lord. Looks like he’s seen battle,” the court mage moved to allow Grey in, using her magic to restore and heal the guard.

“Speak, what happened to you and your post?” Bulgruuf demanded, his nerves already on edge.

“D…dra…a Dragon, my Jarl,” he stuttered, the fear and horror of his encounter still fresh in mind. “It came out of nowhere, it still hunts by the tower.”

“Grey, take some men and deal with this. End this plight before it reaches Whiterun.” Nodding, Grey flew down the stairs and bolted for the door. Every guard she passed, she ordered to follow with promise of a prestigious kill. Many of the men joined the guard for wealth and riches; many didn’t question fighting a dragon.

Through the gates and across the fields, all was still. Either the beast was lying in wait for prey to come or it had moved on.

“Stay sharp. Whether the dragon has left or not, it may return,” she ordered, Nightingale sword drawn and magic flickering in her hands. The guards kept close, some brandishing their bows while others clung to their swords and shields. “Search the tower, keep low and eyes open,” a bowman and another ran up to the tower just as a roar bellowed over the countryside. From on high, a dragon fly over the ridge and down upon the tower. The guards scattered, Grey drove for cover as the beast swooped low before taking the skies again.

“Is that the dragon that attacked Helgen?!” A guard cried, managing to dodge a torrent of flames behind a rock.

“No! The other was pitch black! This is a different dragon!” Grey shouted back, swinging her blade and catching the beast’s tail as it sailed by.

“Another?! I thought the dragons were…” plucked from the tower, the guard was thrown to the ground dead. The dragon’s wing beats caught her hood again, spilling her half braid out over her back. Catching sight of the wisped silver, the dragon took pause. Landing on the tower itself, the Guards found cover while Grey remained in the open.

“My Thane!! Get to cover!!” a guard called, only to be silenced by a wing of ice.

“Silence **_Joor_** _!_ ( _Mortal_ )” The dragon hissed, speaking both their tongue and his own. “I wish to speak with this **_Zilf Miil_** ( _Silver Woman_ ).”Understanding his words, Grey motioned for the guards to stay back, their weapons still raised.

“Why speak now when you began our fight?” she called so make her voice heard, her reply a mere chuckle from the hulking beast.

“ ** _Vahk, pruzah miil_** , ( _Simple, good woman_ ). I had not seen the silver of your hair, nor believed the scent upon my nose,” she could see the smirk breeming his maul, if a dragon could smirk. “ ** _Ful dii Thur rot lost vahzah_** ( _So my Overlord’s words were true_ ), Kin of Sotzinvahlok yet live. All thought you and your kind were dead.”

“I know not what you speak, Dragon. Your words fall on deaf ears,” He gazed turned from amused to curious, leaping from the tower his bulk shook the ground, pulling most off their feet. Lumbering on his wing arms, he approached Grey and brought his maw close. His nostrils flared as they took in her scent, a low purr churring from the depths.

“ ** _Zu’u koraav nu. Wuth luh gevul hin hah_** ( _I see now. Old magic darkens your mind_ )” Old magic? Was it to do with that contraption the mage conjured her from? “You don’t know who you truly are, yet the scent of a female **_dovah_** ( _Dragon_ ) is still strong. **_Lingrah lost Zu’u galik fah daar sahlon~_** ( _Long have I pined for this scent~_ )” another purred wrapped his words as he reared up. “ ** _Krif zey, Dovahkiin!_** ( _Fight me, Dragonborn!!_ ) Lose and I shall kill all here and take you as my prize. Win, and my soul is yours!” His wing beats took him to the sky, the dance of battle beginning again, but now he closed off the guards from her, leaving her to fight him alone.

“I will not be made a toy of, **_Meyz ahst zey waan hi yin_** _!!_ ( _Come at me if you dare!!_ )” Where did those words come from? Her momentary lapse had allowed the dragon to gain an upper hand. Knocking her off, pinned on her back, the dragon roared.

“ ** _Dreh hi gahvon?_** ( _Do you yield?_ )” He mocked, looking to the guards with a hungry gaze. No, she couldn’t give up, not when lives and her home were threatened. Though pinned, her arms could still move. Summoning her magic, she used an old and powerful destruction spell and threw the dragon back with a hailstorm of fire. Screeching from the burning bite, Grey leapt to her feet to charge the beast. Grabbing a greatsword dropped from a fallen guard, she leapt onto the prone dragon, fear crossing his eyes as she brought the sword down.

“ ** _DIR!!_** ( _DIE_!!)” Piercing his fleshy underbelly, it slicing into his flesh, muscle and bone to strike his heart. His roar bellowed across the fields, his death throes thrashed her from his gullet, the sword still imbedded in his chest. Another spell licked at her fingers, her will wrapping the blade and pulling it back. The result: the blade wrenched from the beast and a leaving a large and deep wound. Catching the blade in hand, the wound opened and guts spilled to the ground. Pain and ebbing life flashing in his glassy eyes.

“ ** _Dovahkiin_** …No…” gasping and choking on his own blood, the dragon fell dead. Panting, dropping the heavy blade, the guards approached to ensure their Thane was uninjured from her duel. One gasped, pulling the attention of the group, the sight of the Dragon’s body burning …eroding …disappearing before their eyes was not expected, as was the strange ghostly wisps escaping the bones, all lashing and becoming absorbed by Grey’s body.

“What?” she questioned, feeling the strength and knowledge of the dragon entering her. Words from the strange language entered her mind, as well as meaning. A word she had found in Bleak Falls Burrow now had meaning, and power. More entered her mind too, the same words shouted by the beast to call fire and ice.

“I can’t believe it. You’re…Dragonborn,” one of the guards gasped.

“Dragonborn?” she asked.

“In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power,” his words brought up the knowledge she had just absorbed, but it wasn’t that she took it, just that it came to her. To the victor go the spoils. But the feeling of ‘stealing’ its soul just…didn’t seem right. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed the dragon’s power?”

“I…don’t know what that was,” she replied, looking to the other guards, seeing their surprised and awed gazes.

“There’s one way to find out. Try to shout…that would prove it.” Shout? Like the Dragon had? It was worth a shot and would give her the answers she needed. “According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training, the way the dragons do.”

Moving from the men, Grey calmed her mind. If she was to do this she didn’t want anyone hurt from it. Seeing as the sky would be the best target, the words seemed to come to her on will alone. Thinking on the new words filled fire in her throat and she inhaled.

“ ** _YOL TOOR SHUL!_** ” the resulting shout conjured a torrent of flames, leaping from her lips and into the open sky until it diminished. Surprised and awed by her feat, she tried another. “ ** _FO KRAH DIIN!!_** ” This time, it came as a rush of ice, shooting out much like the flames before diminishing in the open air. “ ** _FUS!_** ” though weaker than the last 2, it did explain what the word was from Bleak Falls Burrow; it was one of those ‘Words of Power’.

“There is no denying it. You are Dragonborn!” the guard cheered, followed by the others. “We should return and tell Bulgruuf the news.” Nodding, drained from the fight, the guards helped Grey back to the city. Once at the gates, a resounding boom echoed over the plains; their eyes drawn to the highest peak, the tallest mountain in all of Skyrim – The throat of the World.

“ ** _DOVAHKIIN_**!!” the booming call pulled Grey, her body moving to heed it, but the Jarl had to be informed of the development.

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>> 

Returning to Dragonsreach, the guards moved Grey to a seat to rest, calling the Jarl. Proventus, the Jarl’s steward, was the first to enter the room at the guards’ behest.

“Thane Grey. Good, you’ve finally returned. The Jarl has been expecting you,” the man smiled, pleased to see she was alive and assuming the dragon was dead.

“Indeed, Steward. But…might I something to drink? The battle drained me physically and mentally,” she sighed, watching as he waved to a servant, watching them flee into the kitchens. Just as the young woman returned with a goblet of water, Jarl Balgruuf entered the throne room with his brother in tow.

“You’ve returned. What happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?” he asked, watching as Grey gulped down her water.

“Indeed he was, but not that black winged nightmare from Helgen,” she sighed, seeing Balgruuf’s worried gaze. “But what the dragon said, the language it spoke…I knew it, yet never spoke it in my life. Then when I slew it, sending it back to wherever its soul was born…the guards called me…Dragonborn. As did the dragon.”

“Dragonborn…could it be? Galgruuf mused, the guards approaching with their witness and oaths. “What do you know of the Dragonborn?”

“All I know is when the dragon stood and challenged me, he called me a **_dovah_** then when I slew him, I ‘absorbed’ some of his power and knowledge,” honest were her words, watching the Jarl closely.

“The Greybeards…” Balgruuf mused, moving away to contemplate. But the meaning of the word was lost to Grey, turning to Hrongar for an explanation.

“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” he asked, showing more amusement and fervour than his Jarl brother. “That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in…centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!” That name, once it fell from the Nord’s lips, pulled hidden memories.

_ /~A large banquet hall; full to the brim with mead and food. Dancing and swinging; a noble face of god smiling and singing with the crowd. His face similar to another, younger man. Dark eyes and hair, a bright smile and a friendly voice, muffled from the forgotten memory…friend he was called…his name…~/ _

“Hrongar, calm yourself. Thane Grey has had a tiring night as it is. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with her?” Proventus asked, taking a pitcher of water from an attending servent, refilling Grey’s goblet as she greedily downed the container. “Capable as she may be, I don’t see any signs of her being this, what, ‘Dragonborn’.”

“Nord nonsense?” Hrongar snapped, looking ready to draw his sword. “Why you puffed-up ignorant…these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!” Returning to his brother, the Jarl placed a calming hand on the offended Nord’s sword arm.

“Hrongar. Don’t be so hard on Avenicci.” Soothing his brother, the Jarl turned back to Grey. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. Now they summon you.” Balgruuf’s face was aglow and curious. But who were the Greybeards? And why were they summoning her? “Old and wise, they are masters of the Way of the Voice. Living in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World.”

“And what would they want with me?” Grey asked, still unconvinced of this new discovery.

“The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a _Thu’um_ , or shout,” Balgruuf explained, looking hopeful, again. “If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.”

“But what do these Greybeards want with her?” Proventus asked, look between the 2 nobles.

“That’s the Greybeards’ business, not ours. If the Greybeards believe Grey is Dragonborn, who are we to argue.” Balgruuf replied, a warning look shot to his steward. Turning back to his Thane, he smiled. “You’d better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It’s a tremendous honour.” Agreeing with her Jarl, Grey stands to take her leave, leaving the men to prepare defences for the city.

Though feeling drained, Grey would not pause if this honour was to be fulfilled at the nearest convenience. Returning to the Whiterun stables, Duneyrr waiting nearby. Petting the large creature, he helped Grey onto his back while leading him toward Ivarstead and the Throat of the World **.**


	3. Dovahkiin lives!

Having made it to Ivarstead, the village at the mountain’s base, Grey had turned in for the night while leaving Duneyrr to return to the wilds. Come morning, Grey sent word to the guild of what happened in Helgen and made her trek up the mountain. The 7000 steps were indeed a marvel, as well as dangerous. She could see why many pilgrims seldom made the trip. With wolves, trolls and the occasional spider prowling the steps, it could spell the doom to any ill-prepared traveller. Something that Grey was not.

Cape hugged around her to fight the chilling cold of the mountain’s frosted veil, a large castle came into view: High Hrothgar, a fortress if there ever was one. Aged and worn from the years of battling the elements, it was a sight to behold. After dropping off some supplies she had promised to deliver in a worn villager’s stead, she walked to its doors; a single knock moved the large slabs of stone apart, welcoming her into the halls.

Caution guiding her step, she pulled back her hood as she clicked against the cold stone floors. A circle of dark robed men awaited her. Sizing them up, they may have looked old but they were skilled, no doubt of that. The first to arrive was about to speak, but his aged eyes took one look at Grey and almost fell to his knees. As did the others, they’re eyes wide with surprise and shock.

“Can it be?” he asked, taking muted steps towards her. “A child of Sotzinvahlok?”

“You are not the first to call me that,” Grey mused, looking to each sage to gage their shock. “Why is that name so infamous?”

“Because, dear girl, he is the second son of Akatosh. Brother to the World Eater himself and known to have fallen in love with a mortal maiden. Raised a family and died for them…you don’t know this?” looking her in the eye, Grey froze. The child of a dragon? How could that be true? Feeling weak in the knees, the sage approached and aided her to a stone slab.

“How can that be?” she gasped, reeling from the shock.

“The silver of your hair is unnatural for a woman your age. And your eyes, such pristine could only be held by a dragon,” he explained, “Both were traits unique to the last silver dragon. None have seen his kind since the dragons held dominion over the world.”

“Then…what’s my name?” she looked to the man, “’Grey’ has been the only name I’ve known for the last four years. No past with only a future…now I’m the human child of a dragon?”

“You are his lineage, child,” the sage smiled, “Take that and let it forge your path. You are not simply a human, born with dragon’s blood. But with the heart and soul of one too.”

“Is that how I can understand the dragon tongue?” she asked, looking to each one for guidance.

“No. It is said all of Sotzinvahlok’s brood were fluent in the Dragon tongue but still had to be taught,” the head sage explained. “It could be a latent memory.”

“Then…why did you call me here?” Finding the strength to stand, she faced the Greybeards, ready for any and all trials they were place before her.

“Show us. Let us taste of your voice,” standing back, the sages surrounded her and leaving her in slight confusion. “Do not be afraid. Your Shout will not harm us,” coaxing her to prove her birthright, she decided to refrain from the shouts she had learned before. They felt too strong to be using on a person. Instead, she used the shout she had learned from Bleak Falls Barrow. Grounding herself, she looked to them, taking a deep breath.

“ ** _FUS_!** ” The force that came from her throat pushed the sages back, pulling back a smile on their faces. Motioned to do the shout again, Grey took her breath and forced the shout outward. She knew the word: ‘Force’, making the sage’s stager back from the weak word.

“Good. Good. I had no doubts, Dragonborn.” Smiling, the head of this Brotherhood approached, making an elaborate bow. “Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards.” Directing out, Arngeir led Grey to a larger room, a large table before them. Offering a seat, his fellow Greybeards followed after them. “Now tell me, why did you come?”

“You called. I came,” she replied, looking to all of them.

“No other reason?” Arngeir asked.

“And...maybe a lead…on my past,” looking to the Greybeards, hope in her eyes. “You already told me I’m a possible blood descendant of a Dragon. That is enough for me to know I’m on the right path.”

With all said and done, the Greybeards set a task to Grey. To prove her discipline and temperance necessary for a Dragonborn to wield, she was shown the rest of the ‘Unrelenting Force’ shout she had demonstrated before and was even taught the first word in ‘Whirlwind Sprint’. Now with the full shout, she had to travel to Ustengrav – an ancient fane where Jurgen Windcaller’s horn resides.

Traversing the tomb was harder than she had anticipated, even with skills in stealth, the number of enemies were staggering. A company of rogue mages and necromancers had taken up residence in the tomb. Disgraceful as they forced the dead to walk, but placed her quest in jeopardy. Fighting the Draugr wasn’t too much of a hassle, it was just wrong for the dead to rise in such a manner. The presence of cobwebs did little to ease her tension, having a profound hate for their creators. With the spider corpses left to smoke, Grey entered the last chamber of the ruin. Within was an alter, a stone path surrounded by water and a number of sealed mounds. One step onto the path set off a chain reaction, large Nordic sculptures rose from beneath the water’s surface to welcome her. Cautious, she walked forward and stood before the alter; now realising it was a coffin.

“What?” glancing at where the horn would’ve been resting, in its place was a note.

_Dragonborn –_

_I need to speak with you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you._

_~~A friend_

“Son of a…” beyond annoyed that someone had traverse the ruin and claimed the horn before her, Grey resigned to investigate the mysterious letter. Finding the hidden passage out and back into the main ruin, she returned to Duneyrr and rode for Riverwood. But what concerned her was this so called ‘friend’. She had been to Riverwood many times, even to recruit once, and never had anyone stood out. Well, except maybe the Innkeeper, Delphine. There was something about the woman she didn’t like.

Stepping into the Inn, noticing the day was waning, walked up to said proprietress. A Breton, blonde and slightly shorter than herself. Dressed in that same blue frock, she eyed Grey – surprise was her initial expression before that indifferent mask replaced it.

“Can I…help you with something? Or are you here for the drink and food?” Delphine asked.

“I came to rent actually. The day has been long…and a friend recommended your attic room,” watching her, surprise fell through her cracked mask, eyeing Grey again.

“Attic room, eh? Well…we don’t have an attic room, but you can have the one of the left. Make yourself at home.” Delphine indicated to the room she offered, allowing Grey to walk in. Not a moment after she stepped into the room, Delphine followed her in and shut the door. “So, you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“And you’re the so called ‘friend’ who took the horn,” Grey wasn’t about to let this woman take her off guard, whatever her reason.

“This? Take it, if that’s all you wanted but I have something I wish to discuss with you. Follow me,” without a second thought, Delphine left and expected Grey to follow her. Sighing, seeing no alternative, Grey trudged on behind her, into another room. At the wardrobe, an unlikely marker, a hidden door revealed itself.

“Why the secrecy?” Grey asked, considering the idea of a secret room for when she built her own home. Delphine ignored her, getting to business.

“The Greybeards seem to think you’re the Dragonborn. I hope they’re right.” Her snide and sneer would’ve offended Grey had she the mind to care. This woman knew nothing of her and hadn’t seen the gift she had. Who was she to judge her?

“Well it is true, confirmed by not just the Greybeards, but my Jarl Bulgruuf and several Whiterun guards.” Grey leered at Delphine, giving her credit since many broke under her icy stare…most of the time.

“Forgive me if the fable-filled minds of a few Nords doesn’t sway my judgement, nor that of the Greybeards’ words,” she snipped back. “I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?”

“No. It makes you a rather talented depth diver. And the Greybeards have already seen what I am capable of, I hardly found the task necessary.” Grey waved off her quip, taking a seat. “What exactly do you want with me?”

“I didn’t go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn’t a Thalmor trap,” that caught Grey’s ear.

“The Altmer? The Dominion? Nothing but a bunch of fanatical, power-hungry, religious nuts. What do they have to do with anything?” Grey demanded, but saw that all too familiar mask and unwillingness to give straight answers. “If you’re not going to cooperate after dragging me here I’m just going to leave, at least the Greybeards are more forthcoming.”

“Please, I’m not your enemy. I already gave you the horn~”

“Which was as good as a lure to a fish. Your point?”

“I’m trying to help you! I just need you to hear me out.” Grey stared at the Breton. Everything within her screamed at her to just leave but…

“Very well. Speak or else I’m leaving,” returning to her seat, she waited for Delphine.

“I’m part of a group that’s been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time,” Delphine explained, not that it made any sense either. “If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Grey glared, “How can I trust you? Why are you looking for a Dragonborn.”

“We remember what most others don’t, that the Dragonborn is the ultimate Dragonslayer.” Delphine’s words showed the pride she harboured. The Dragonborn was a Dragonslayer? “You’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul.”

“But…the Greybeards said my family were…”

“Descendants of Tiber Septim? Perhaps, a splinter family maybe but the fact of the matter is, if you are Dragonborn, you’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul.” Delphine interrupted.

“No. That my family were descendants of Akatosh’s second son, the silver dragon Sotzinvahlok. That I am half dragon, half human. And I have no intention of killing dragons just because of what they are.” Delphine’s eyes grew wide, something she remembered added to the shock. She turned to her bookshelf, searching and pulling out books while irritating Grey further.

“A child of…impossible,” Delphine flipped through a book while Grey had one foot out the door.

“I won’t stand for this any longer, either explain why you’ve brought me here or I’m leaving,” Grey turned for the door when Delphine reached out, taking her arm. Though she snatched it back, Grey turned to glare at the older woman.

“Wait, please. I know this is all hard to accept but please, hear me out. Dragons aren’t just coming back, they’re coming back to life,” that caught Grey’s attention. Back to life? As in…someone was resurrecting these beasts?

“What?”

“They weren’t gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors, the Blades. Now something’s happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it.” Grey still held her glare at the woman, but she was right. People would be in danger, but the thought of killing a dragon solely because of what it was? Living in its own nature seemed wrong. A feeling billowed up, a thought perhaps or even a memory. 2 people arguing, growing from heated discussion to a near brawl. One with stunning blue-violet eyes – much like her own – demanded the other leave, while the other sneered and promised death…but it never came as the thought faded.

“And why should I help you?” Delphine was surprised by her answer.

“Because….look it’s obvious you won’t listen to a word I say. A dragon’s descendant or not you need to see the threat these beasts have on everyone. The next dragon to rise should be at Kynesgrove near Windhelm. Meet me there when you can and you will see everything. If you’re truly Dragonborn, I’ll explain everything to you then.” With that, sighing in defeat, Delphine began to change into a set of leather armour. Fed up herself, Grey took her leave.

Now with the horn in hand, Grey made her long trek back to High Hrothgar. Dismounting her steed, cape wrapped warmly around her as she enter the grand fort, she was met by Wulfgar and Arngeir.

“Welcome back, and I see you’ve retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, well done. You have now passed all the trials,” Arngeir smiled on the silver haired woman, watching her bow respectfully.

“Thank you master,” before she could speak further, the other Greybeards approached, surrounding her in the main hall.

“Now come, it is time that we now recognise you formally as Dragonborn.” Nodding, she stood firmly between them, taking in the final word of ‘Unrelenting Force’ before they took another stance. Confused, her body was suddenly rocked by their combined Thu’um.

“ ** _Lingrah krosis saran Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu’umu,mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok!_** _( Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it._ )” Winded, Grey fell to her knees but found new meaning in their words. She was now Dragon of the North. Ysmir. She would bear the name with pride. But whereas the other Greybeards moved back to their previous activities, Arngeir noticed something on Grey’s expression.

“What troubles you, Dragonborn?” he asked, watching, as she seemed conflicted with the question.

“I…I met a woman. She had taken the horn first and lured me into Riverwood…she says she’s something called a Blade. Some group who hunted dragons and…I’m the ultimate dragonslayer. It’s not true…is it?” Arngeir sighed, seemingly annoyed as she was confused.

“Indeed. What this woman spoke of is true, you can absorb the knowledge and soul of Dragons should you kill one, like any dragon can. But that does not mean you are a Dragonslayer.” Moving to a chair, they both took a seat to discuss the issue. “What are your feelings on Dragons?”

“That they are creatures like any other, but are capable of reason like mortals. The first I encountered in Whiterun did not give me the choice, I had to kill him but…I know there is a way to coexist with dragons,” despite her malcontent, Arngeir smiled at the young woman, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Then you truly are kin to Sotzinvahlok. All born from his blood had an uncanny understanding of the Dragons, their home was even called ‘The Dragon’s Cradle’,” feeling reassured, Grey smiled to the aged man. Taking her leave, Grey considered Delphine’s offer. Sighing, she made for the long journey north.

Kynesgrove came into view. The time had come to see if what Delphine had said would come to pass, if a dragon would rise from the mound. But the moment she rode into the small village, a woman came screaming down the road.

“No! You don’t want to go up there!” she cried, running up to the mounted Grey. “A dragon! I-It’s attacking!”

“What? Where is it?” Grey demanded, steadying her spooked stead.

“It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound!” the woman was shaking, terrified. Grey couldn’t blame her since none were prepared for such a thing. “I don’t know what it’s doing up there, but I’m not waiting around to find out!” watching as she ran down the road to safety, Grey urged her stead to gallop with the hill behind the town, where the dragon mound was located. At the peak, Grey leaped from Duneyrr to see Delphine hiding in the background while the same black nightmare from Helgen hovered overhead. Grey shooed Duneyrr away to ensure his safety, the stag followed willingly.

“ ** _Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!_** _(Sahloknir! Ever-bound dragon spirit!_ )” The black horror growled. Grey could tell he knew they were there, ignoring Delphine on the other side of the mound, though he didn’t seem as tenacious as previous in killing her.

“What are you going?! Get down!” Delphine hissed, but Grey wasn’t about to back down. The dragon would do what he intended, even if they were there or not.

“ **SLEN TIID VO!!** ” a shout? One she hadn’t heard before nor could barely comprehend. But as the _thu’um_ rocked the ground on impact, to her surprise and shock, the mound exploded from the life buried within, a skeletal dragon clawing up from the depths as muscle, tissue, ligaments, flesh and scale regrew and healed.

“Wait…what…this is worse than I thought…” Delphine gasped, watching as the dragon was now made flesh.

“ ** _Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?_** ( _Alduin, my overlord! An age past, did you not destroy the power of the ancient kings?_ )” The dragon Sahloknir asked, looking to his airborne master.

“ ** _Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir_** , ( _Yes, Sahloknir, my only ally_ )” his words were almost a purr, endearing the newly resurrected dragon. But soon his gaze turned from the dragon, looking straight at Grey in the open. His eyes grew brighter the further Grey approached. “ ** _Ful, veistul kiir do Sotzinvahlok, hi lost meyz_** _._ ( _So, wretched child of Sotzinvahlok, you have come_.)” His glare grew harder the longer she stood her ground.

“ ** _Sotzinvahlok?_** ” his ally asked, looking back at Grey and noticing the wisp of youthful silver in her hair. “ ** _Eh, ful gein do ok sos lost neilaas bok. Dii, rek los malbrii gein, ahrk mul. Bahlaan jur. (_** _Ah, so one of his blood has survived the ages. My, she is a pretty one, and strong. A worthy challenge._ )”

“ ** _Nahlot! Dreh ni il hinmaar kos jeyk. Rek los hokoron ahrk ni bahlaan do dovah,_** ( _Silence! Do not let yourself be confused. She is the enemy and not worthy of being called ‘Dragon’)_ ” the black nightmare hissed, glaring down on Grey. “ ** _Rek nis orin mindoraan mii, vis hi dovahkiin?_** ( _She can’t even understand us, can you Dragonborn?_ )”

“ ** _Zu’u vis, Dovah. Zu’u mindoraan zuk do hin sahkren fein hi lorot._ (** _I can, dragon. I understand more of your tongue than you think)”_ The dragons didn’t seem as confused and surprised as Delphine.

“You can speak dragon tongue?” Delphine gasped, watching what transpired before her. But Grey ignored her surprise, holding her own against the pair.

“ ** _Nu vahr los arx stahraal?_** _(Now why are you harming innocents?_ )” the black dragon chuckled, his laughter coming out as a low rumble at her gullible question.

“You may know our tongue, but you still know nothing. Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of **_Dovah_** ,” the dragon hissed. His gaze spoke of what he wanted to do with Grey – crush, devour, rip apart – but he turned his eyes back to Sahloknir. “ **Sahloknir, krii daar joorre! (** _Sahloknir, kill these mortals!_ )” With strong wing beats, the black dragon took to the wing leaving the new dragon alone with Grey and Delphine. She drew her blade to prepare for the dragon’s first move, but Grey stood her ground.

“I know you understand the mortal tongue, Sahloknir. Please, no one has to die, I don’t want to kill you,” Grey hoped reasoning would lead to a better conclusion.

“Alduin wishes your death, a death I will be glad to give!” Lunging forward to catch her in his jaws, Grey dodged those deadly jaws and rolled to the side.

“Then I am sorry. I will defend myself!!” reaching before her back, gripping her Nightingale bow tightly. Pulling the bowstring back, an arrow loaded in her grip. Taking aim, she released the arrow, watching it fly and bury deep into Sahloknir’s flesh. Taking to the sky, the resurrected dragon circled and breathed down hellfire on the two humans.

“We need to get him down to our level!” Delphine cried, ducking behind cover to dodge another bout of flames. They had to act fast before Sahloknir got the upper hand. Getting an idea, she switched to an actual bow and quiver, pulling out an acid flash along with some sturdy string; Grey lashed the flask to the arrow. Compensating for the added weight, Grey shot the arrow as Sahloknir flew overhead, missing his bulk but managed to catch his wings. The flask shattered, spilling its acidic contents onto his thin membrane. His pained roar echoed over the mountains as he was forced to the ground.

Taking the chance, Grey drew her Nightingale blade and charged the prone dragon. Managing to right himself, his wings could still deliver sharp blows as their battle continued. Attacking from the front, Grey noticed Delphine try to take the beast from behind, though never saw his tail swing around.

“Look Out!!” Grey cried, distracted long enough for Sahloknir to throw her back and catching Delphine with his tail, sending her hurtling into a tree. The battle brought a joyous cackle to the dragon.

“Haha! Yes! How I have longed to test my strength again! Now die **_joore!_ ** ( _Mortals_!)” Turning to his main target, Grey, his eyes widened at her thu’um rushing at him.

“ ** _YOR TOOR SHUL_** ” Flames hurtled toward him, engulfing his bulk in flames. A roar of pain echoed across the mountains as Grey took his distraction. Grabbing his horn, she heaved herself onto his bulk and held her blade aloft. “ ** _DIR!!_** ( _DIE_!!)” Much like the last dragon, she drove her sword into his skull, a quick twist ended the pain. “I am sorry…but I will not let your death be in vain.” Sliding off the now dead dragon, she once again watched as his corpse rotted and faded while his soul leapt from the bones and into herself. His knowledge was vast but not as much as the last, a new shout came with it; the remaining words of the Whirlwind Sprint.

“Gods above…” Grey turned to the awestruck Delphine, her eyes almost bulging out of her head. “So…you really are…”

“You have your proof,” Grey mused, looking over the fallen dragon in despair. She didn’t want to kill him, but he had forced her hand. “Now, what do you want with me?”

“I’m one of the last members of the Blades: Dragonslayers who served the Dragonborn, the greatest Dragonslayer,” the moment she uttered those words, Grey turned on her heel. “Wait! Where are you going?!”

“I want nothing to do with dragon slayers,” Grey hissed, her own thu’um wrapping in her threat.

“But we have to stop them! They will hunt and kill everyone alive! You yourself saw that huge black dragon _resurrect_ this one!” Delphine froze as those crystalline eyes turned on her, the pupil almost slitting.

“ _He_ had a name! Sahloknir! Like any mortal has, you should give him that respect,” Delphine just looked shocked at her words, taking pity on a dragon was nigh unheard of, driving the Breton further to anger.

“Look, someone is behind the dragons return and whether you like it or not they are going to hurt people. We need to find out who is behind it. Thalmor may know even if they are not the ones involved,” Delphine snapped, watching as Grey searched the treeline. Blowing a shrill whistle into the undergrowth, she was shocked again to see a large white stag bound over to her, lowering its head to aid her mount.

“And what makes you think they would know?” Grey asked, petting and checking Duneyrr as he shivered, shaking from the dragon’s appearance.

“Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tells me it can’t be anyone else,” rolling her eyes, Grey took Duneyrr’s reins before Delphine grabbed her leg. “Please Dragonborn. Meet me back in Riverwood whenever you can. For the sake of Skyrim please, we need you to stop the dragons.” Grey wanted to refuse her and just leave, but if there was a greater force working in the shadows, she would defend her home and people. Not just Nords, but everyone. She had made many friends and allies throughout the province and would be damned before she allowed any to come to harm.

“Fine. I will meet you there when I am there next, and don’t take this as my acceptance of your…methods. I refuse to take up this Dragonslayer business.” With that, she left Delphine and headed Duneyrr on toward the closest hold. She needed a strong drink and a warm bed after this ordeal.


	4. Bishop - a new companion

The trip from Kynsgrove wasn’t as pleasant as she could’ve hoped, but she was glad to have made it to Whiterun. Divine’s forbid if she get stuck in Windhelm or have to trudge back to Riverwood. Thinking of the small village, going into the local trader and the blacksmith to trade and forge, now left a bad taste in her mouth. She had Delphine to thank for that.

Seated on Duneyrr, she ushered the stag to the side. Duneyrr nickered as she moved away, smiling as the stage managed to snag her hood. Petting his snout, reassuring the jittery animal, she headed into the village. Greeted by passing villagers, she offered a small albeit forced smile as she passed.

Met with the usual villagers; Sven and Hilde paused in their chat to bow and greet her. Alvor paused in his work, nodding as she passed, his Sigrid offered her an apple as she passed. The children ran about with their dog while Faendal paused from chopping wood. Camilla had just been leaving her brother’s trading post as Grey passed, her smile brightened as she approached and hugged her. Recalling their last encounter, the two women were good friends.

But as she passed the Sleeping Giant Inn, an inn she didn’t want to be in but knew she would have to meet with the insufferable Breton; she turned to a man smirking, shaking his head as she passed. Strange, she had never seen this man before and yet by the looks he was giving her he seemed to.

“And who is this? The villagers look at you is as if your nobility,” He seemed to want to say something else, but Grey could pick the tone in his voice. Snide and gruff, she knew his type.

“Because I am a Thane of Whiterun and of Falkreath. Is that a problem?” she asked, eyeing and staring him down.

“Oh no, of course not your ladyship,” he smirked, holding his hands up in defence. “But if you expect me to kiss your boots, you’ll have to find someone else.”

“I don’t expect you to do anything,” she snipped, looking him over. “Besides, what could a ranger be doing in Riverwood? If its game you want, I suggest Falkreath or at least Solitude.” The man then chuckled, walking up to her with his smug grin ever present.

“What makes you think I’m hunting game? I could be intending a night of merriment and drinks,” Grey impartial glare did little to deter the man, even feeling a little offended.

“Because no one stays in a village like Riverwood unless they were born here, hiding something…” glancing to the inn door, reeling and letting go her anger at the woman within. “or are passing through looking for something other than an inn.”

“You’re smarter than you look, princess,” he flinched as Grey reached for her dagger. “But since you’re so interested. I’m searching for the thieving trappers who took my wolf, Karnwyr. He disappeared while hunting a week ago. When I went to look for him, I found those trappers had captured him. Been tracking them ever since and their trail continues east of here.”

“I’m sad to hear that,” Grey nodded, she would track Duneyrr across Skyrim to ensure he was alright. “East you say? There a many caves and ruins these trappers might hold up in. How far east have they gone?”

“So interested, but don’t think I need your help, little girl.” Grey glared, if at the very least because he seemed to have no tact for respect.

“Then I wish you luck, I’m sure a ranger of your skills can handle some simple trappers, even if they have fled into the Rift.” Turning from the man, Grey didn’t make the last step as his annoyed groan caught her ears. Turning, the ranger glared down on her for a change.

“They’re…not simple trappers. By the looks of their trail, they’re now an army of bandits, and I’m not going to go stumbling into any kind of ambush,” he explained, stepping down to her. “You help me, I’ll help you. You…seem somewhat capable.”

“Then I’m glad you approve,” rolling her eyes she turned to leave, the man following. “And guessing, with the numbers you claim and the …merchandise these trappers are skilled in. I know of one or two places they might reside.” Leaving Riverwood, giving a shrill whistle they waited. “Karnwyn must mean a great deal to risk yourself.”

“You have no idea. You wouldn’t understand the bond a Ranger and his wolf have,” turning to the man, a little surprised by his snap, she smiled.

“I disagree,” a happy bleat followed as Duneyrr galloped up. Stepping to the white stag, petting his thick neck and coarse fur. Turning to the ranger, she could’ve smiled like Sheogorath from the gawking look he gave her. “This is Duneyrr, a dear friend and companion. He can get us to the Rift before sundown.” Gripping his offered antlers, Duneyrr helped Grey onto his back, jittering as she seated herself comfortably. Offering her hand, she shook her head at the ranger’s hesitance. “Do you wish to walk then?”

Groaning, the man took her arms and seated himself on the stag. Duneyrr didn’t take too well to it until Grey rubbed his fur.

“Shh. Only until we reach the Rift,” the stag seemed to understand, making his way down the road they had come. “It’s Grey, by the way.” The ranger looked to her, his hands hesitantly holding her hips.

“Bishop…for what it’s worth.”

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>> 

Arriving where Bishop had found the last of the tracks, it was obvious where they were going. Noting their direction and number, Grey knew only one cave that could house them and their prey. Cragslane Cavern, in Eastmarch. It was a popular den for those afflicted with Skooma as well as a betting arena for…dog fights. How anyone found it fun to watch wolves and dogs rip each other apart was sick indeed.

Sending Duneyrr away from the danger, Rowena stayed low as Bishop followed. There was always someone guarding the entrance here, and they were never friendly. Bishop spotted the guard, sitting back with a large bottle of mead. Growling under his breath, he legs locked to spring forward before Grey stopped him. Pointing to the side, Bishop noticed the wolves lurking by the guard. They would have spotted his approach well before the guard did.

Pulling her bow free, Grey watched Bishop follow with his own. She aimed for the wolves while Bishop aimed for the guard. Easing her breath, lining her shot, Grey felt time slow as her focus locked. Bishop’s arrow flew first, pushed by the gentle breeze to pierce the guard’s arm. Alerted, the wolves turned only to find arrows slicing through their skulls. The guard turned in shock as his pets fell, but his concern fell short as Bishop’s second arrow landed in his throat.

“Not bad,” Bishop mused, retrieving his arrows, watching as Grey did the same. Rolling her eyes, taking no interest in his off-handed comment, she moved toward the cave entrance. The cave passage formed a steep decline, coming to a small room with a side path to the main chamber. Grey stayed low, her footsteps measured and muffled from her enchantments and practised stealth. “How did you know they would be here?” Bishop’s question, though a curious one, dripped with concern and distrust. Rolling her eyes, Grey couldn’t fathom why he would think she would betray him. What was there to gain from it?

“I have dealt with this den before. Supplying Skooma to addicts in Riften. Now they stick to dog fights and gambling,” turning to the ranger, she could see how enraged he was by that simple fact. The Skooma trade had done the same to her when her allies in Riften revealed the trade to her.

Leaving the issue moot, Grey headed towards the wolf cages, finding only a few occupied. Most were holding mangy mutts, half breed and feral wolves. But one stood out from the others. A dusk grey coat, dusted with black soot across its back, the canine looked annoyed and woeful in the rusted cage. His ears perked as they approached, the sight of Bishop brought back a light in those haunted sapphire eyes, panting happy as Bishop offer his hand, tail wagging in fervour.

“There you are you mutt, What the hell were you thinking, getting trapped and making me track you all the way here to this godsforsaken place?!” his words may have enticed anger from some, but Bishop’s voice was playful as Grey started on the lock. The wolf nuzzled Bishop’s offered hand through the bars, licked and whining to him for attention. A small smile tugged Grey’s lips, it was the same for her and Duneyrr. If she had been away for too long, he would crave attention from her on returning. “Aw, good boy, I missed you too,” the touching reunion was quickly becoming a little too sweet for her tastes. “We’ll get you out of that cage so you can go tear those bandit’s throats out!”

“And I guess I have to deal with these bandits again? I was hoping to get out without a scuffle,” Grey sighed, releasing the pining wolf. Leaping into Bishop’s arms, he managed to calm the wolf down before looking by the corners.

“Well if her ladyship is too disturbed by the sight of blood and death, then I shall simply go on my way,” his tease brought a dark chuckle to the silver-mane woman. Oh if he only knew.

“Quiet and quick? Or make it hurt?” she asked, curious as to which he might choose. Taken aback by her question left a delicious tension and an opening to show off. Smiling again, Grey raised her left hand, magicka dancing along her fingertips as invisibility hid her from her companion. “Keep up if you can~” Without another word, Grey slipped into the main den.

Bishop was quick to follow, his entrance gaining the attention of every bandit, trapper and patron in the room. Before any could move, he watched awestruck as Grey blinked in and out of view, her blades delving into warm flesh and arcing blood rainbows before disappearing into the shadows. Caught off at first, Bishop returned to his senses and drew his bow. Taking out the barkeep and a nearby bandit, Grey slew through the bandit spectators and the rabid wolves. Moving into the next room, the last two bandits remained. Before they could react, Grey’s arrow drawn and held, a second arrow followed hers. One arrow sailed into the bandit leader while the other struck his second. Both fell to the ground, dead. Looking up, she spotted Bishop sheathing his bow.

Karnwyr, his muzzle caked with blood, trotted up to Grey with a happy pant. Nuzzling and licking her hands, the assassin couldn’t help but kneel down and pet the happy wolf.

“So, now that Karnwyr is safe and back with you, what will you do now?” Grey asked, turning to the pleased man.

“For a start, I’m impressed. I didn’t think a woman such as yourself could kill like that,” Bishop smirked, only to bring out Grey’s ire.

“Then you would be very surprised, Bishop. I am more capable than you might believe,” standing, Grey moved to a chest and safebox in the far corner. A wave of her hand weaved her unique lockpicking spell, freeing the locks and allowing her to collect the reward within.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ve decided to stay on with you,” now that surprised Grey. Sure she’s had others offer their services and company on her journeys but if she had to be honest, she preferred travelling alone. No need to be aware of her companions condition, she didn’t need to split her score and…she wouldn’t have the responsibility of being the reason they died. “Who knows what kind of adventures you and I can have along the way.”

“They would most likely include fighting dragons, thalmor, falmor, Dwemer automatons, a slew of bandits and mercenaries all the while trying to prevent the end of the world,” Grey turned to Bishop, expecting him to second guess his choice but she instead found his ever-present smirk.

“You think that’s enough to discourage me? I don’t remember having this much fun!” Karnwyr barked in agreement, trotting over to his master as he left the caves. Grey knew this would be against her better judgement; she knew anything that would happen she would take personally, but Bishop did seem capable. He was skilled with a bow, and despite only having a dagger that could be an easy fix. Even Karnwyr seemed capable for being a wolf, doing what was only natural to him.

Maybe traveling with someone wouldn’t be so bad after all.

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>> 

Having Bishop around was actually nice, having someone to talk to was certainly different. Bishop didn’t seem against her killing people; taking out her contracts before heading back to the dark brotherhood helped her forget the eventual fact she had to help Delphine.

Returning to Riverwood, she wanted to get this over with fast. Leaving Bishop in the Inn, paying for a drink to keep him occupied while she approached Delphine.

“Ah, Dragonborn. Thank you for coming,” Delphine smiled, making Grey frown as she descended into the secret room.

“Allow me to get one thing straight here Delphine,” her sudden harsh quip caught the Breton woman off guard but could care less in this instance. A line had to be drawn and this was her only chance of doing just that. “I am not here to help you. I want nothing to do with the Blades. I am here solely to find more information regarding the dragons. If infiltrating the Thalmor and getting involved in this ridiculous war helps I will. If not, I want compensation for my time wasted.”

“You do realise the scope of this? How this will affect many lives if we fail?” Delphine appeared appalled by her statement, something again Grey could care less about. “We are talking about our very way of life! If the Thalmor win!”

“Then this is just a vendetta against the Thalmor? I figured as much. Well then you can pay me to kill them like everyone else does if that is all you want,” Grey turned to leave only for Delphine to stop her.

“No, look. Yes I admit getting back at the Thalmor for what they did is a part of this,” Grey crossed her arms, disappointed by the woman’s frail case. “But the dragons are the real threat, and something the Thalmor have might just help us all in stopping it.”

“Us? I have no qualms with the dragons, bare that in mind in future.” Turning back to the table, she bore Delphine’s extended plan to infiltrate the embassy using some party as a cover. She had to dress presentably as well as have some key items smuggled in. She didn’t need weapons given she was at least adept in conjuring weapons, but her armor was a must. Coming to terms and agreeing on the plan, Grey turned to leave. Whether Delphine saw her or not was irrelevant as she snatched a coin purse from the room. Might as well be compensated for this early, and from just how much this woman annoyed her.

“Woah woah there, milady,” Bishop called, following Grey out of the inn. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing, come on,” Rushing out of the village was all she could focus on until Bishop caught her arm. Turning her seething scowl, Bishop mirrored her own.

“Hey, I’m not your servant boy you can push around. Now what the hell happened?” his sterness was another aspect she was not used to. Most in her company would cower or retract their question. All these new experiences were doing her head in. The divines must’ve thought this funny.

“The innkeep, the Breton woman. She…she’s asked me to infiltrate the Thalmor for some information regarding the dragons,” sitting on a nearby rock, she allowed herself a moment to compose. “Nothing too hard in my opinion, but the woman infuriates me, the way she treats dragons and how she thinks.”

“Then why accept the job? Seems rather stupid in my opinion,” Bishop smirked. Whether it was because she had done such a thing or the fact she was showing a more vulnerable side, Grey didn’t like it.

“She’s paid me, so gold was a good motivation,” pulling out the stolen pouch, she threw what remained to Bishop. “And I want to know about this Alduin and this new crisis rearing its head…maybe even learn of my past.” That was something she didn’t want slipping, but it just slipped out like water between her fingers. Seeing Bishop’s curiosity peaked again, she cut the issue. “Let’s just get to Falkreath. I need to see my family before we head for Solitude.” She was happy that Bishop didn’t press her last comment and turned to just following her.

It didn’t take very long to get to Falkreath. Grey would’ve gone straight to the sanctuary but she needed to restore her pack. And she had not spoken to Bishop regarding her ties and felt it wise to slip away in the night while he slept. Coming to the Falkreath gates, they were met with a large group of men. One towered over the others, a Nord by his wheat hair and toned muscles. He was undeterred by the cold it would seem, regarding how much skin he had exposed to the chilled elements.

“Well well. Look who decided to show his face, boys,” the bandit drawled, eyeing her companion before his gaze turned to her. “It seems you come bearing a gift.” Grey bristled. His man, with no name and no affiliation, had already stepped onto her list of people she wished to rend her blade through. Even if he did stand over her, she could point out every flaw he had and easily take him down.

“A…friend of yours Bishop?” she asked, glancing over to her companion. She could tell he bristled, if only just. He indeed knew this man, and perhaps had the same thought as her.

“A friend?! Oh no, my little mouse. Far from it, in fact.” Grey’s fingers itched. One gripped a dagger while another weaved magicka. This was his second strike, one more and she would have no care in killing him. The added bonus would be getting away with it. She had the Jarl wrapped around her finger; a feat any could accomplish with his fascination and love for wine and praise.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Thorn,” Bishop spoke up, his own hand resting upon his hunting knife and the ebony blade Grey had given him. “She’s no mouse, I’d say she’s more than that.” Bishop’s eyes then turned to something Grey couldn’t place. Why was he looking at her like that? It wasn’t smug or snide, it wasn’t even blunt or obvious. Why did he look at her like that?

“Isn’t she? She is a woman, Bishop.” Grey bristled again. A woman? That was his argument?! “Women are soft and delicate – that’s the purpose they serve. This little mouse will serve hers. On my furs, tonight. Whether she likes it or no~” His voice hitched, the point of cold metal rested on his throat. He hadn’t seen her draw her weapon. The ebony Nightingale blade placed a slight pressure as his men drew closer. Bishop tensed, holding his weapons firm as Grey hissed.

“Now, you will listen and listen well. I am not _just_ a woman. I have seen horrors that would make you fall pale like snow. I have faced dragons and lived, devoured their very souls~” Bishop turned at her hiss, his eyes caught something. Something he hadn’t noticed before. Those blue-violet eyes, they stood more intense, like an active soul gem. But her pupils, no longer round and big but slitted and thin like an angry khajiit. How did he not notice that before? Why and how was this possible? “Now, what do you think I am capable of facing you? An insignificant worm?” Grey didn’t move, nor did this Thorn. It was slow at first, billowing from his gut until Thorn whispered a small chuckle.

“Oh ho ho~ So what they say is true. The mighty Dragonborn,” Thorn purred, despite the situation he resided in; despite the blade at his neck, he believed he was still in control. “Now this, this is certainly a peace offering, Bishop. The stories of how I conquered the Dragonborn will be told for ages to come.” Grey tightened her grip. Was this man so vain and proud that he could not see the danger standing before him? “And then, once I am finally don with her, I will bring her in and claim the price on her head – the gold will have me, us, set for life.”

“Is that so?” Bishop mused. At first Grey had wondered if he had considered the idea of handing her over. It would be detrimental to his health considering she would slaughter them all for such insolence and stupidity but looking again, she could see the restrained rage. What this Thorn had said…angered him? Again she questioned why? They had only known each other a day at most.

“It is. I should thank you for presenting her to me. She’s quite a sight~ I can’t wait to tear those clothes off her tempting body~” He froze as a sharp sting caught his cheek. The blade had moved only a moment to leave a long cut along his cheek. She was restraining herself. She didn’t particularly wanted to fight and kill, but this man was making it very easy to just press her blade a little harder. “She’s strong~ a challenge.” It disgusted her as she watched Thorn lick his own blood from the corner of his mouth. A repulsive man indeed. “Perhaps I will let you have a turn with her…after myself and my men are finished with her, of course.”

One of his men tried to approach her, to her own foolishness she moved her blade. The glinting blade metal sliced through her advancing enemy but left her open to Thorn. She had let her guard down from the rage she was feeling. Stupid. Now the brute trapped her in his locked arms, not leaving much room to move or counter.

“Let her go, Thorn.” Looking up, Bishop’s face allowed his anger and rage through, glaring at the bandit leader.

“Would that be wise, I wonder?” Keeping one arm locked around her, his other moved to remove her hood. Silver locks spilled from the black hood, allowing his dirty calloused hands to touch. “You do remember what happened the last time we spoke?”

“It ended in a draw, I know. But it’s been some time since then. I’ve learned a lot since then,” Thorn’s men inched closer, boxing him in. Grey felt concern well up in her. This was why she never took anyone with her. The overwhelming worry and concern for her other churned like bile in her gut. “You, however, probably stayed hidden in the forest all these years, being the brave warriors you are. Fighting bunny rabbits and squirrels.” Was he really mocking them now? Really? What was the point in making them angrier? A small whine caught her ear, glancing down to see Karnwyr behind Thorn. Glancing to Bishop, she noticed his hands moved slightly, like making small signs…ones Karnwyr knew. Was his bluster and sarcasm just to distract them?

“Funny you should mock me, Bishop. You know perfectly well how easily it would be for me to simply…skin you alive…” Thorn’s hand moved from her hair to the only patch of skin Grey’s light armor revealed. Pulling down the high neck collar of her chest piece, scarred and dry lips pressed in. Disgust and rage bloomed as her struggles renewed, fighting against his unwanted touch. “With you own hunting knife, no less.”

“You are six. We are two, more than enough for a group of hunting dogs,” Bishop smirked, spying Karnwyr standing in position. He had to make sure Thorn wasn’t expecting his partner to strike. “If we battle, I’m going to cut that face of yours. Leave a nasty scar, something worse than what Grey has given.” She paused. He said her name? That was the first time he said her name. “That’ll tear the heart right out of you, won’t it?”

“Go ahead and try it!” Thorn hissed, his calm cool dropping a moment. He wasn’t in control anymore, something Grey and Bishop could easily expose. His reaction pulled a small yet endearing chuckle from the ranger.

“So, if you are welcoming death today, the Dragonborn and I will accommodate you!” his hand made a gesture, one Karnwyr knew well. Maul wide, the wolf snapped down on Thorn’s leg. The bandit leader howled, dropping Grey in the process. Her first instinct was to kill, but no; she wanted suffering. Her blade changed course from his head to his legs. Slicing at the knee left Thorn immobile, falling to the ground in a heap while his men were left to deal with.

They worked in near harmony. Where Bishop missed, Grey caught. Where Grey ducked, Bishop flanked. Soon all Thorn’s men lay dead, Bishop turned to find Grey standing over Thorn.

“You thought defeating me would be so easy?” her voice was calm, straight and blunt. Kneeling, she faced the dying man in the face. “There is only one place for scum like you…the Void~” Her blade glinted, held up to the bandit before she struck down. Thorn lay dead, and Grey felt…satisfied with her kill. She didn’t like feeling like this, but he deserved it. If she didn’t, she would be in his bed.

“Ladyship?” Bishop moved to her, noticing the tension. She didn’t say a word, she turned back to the village and straight to the Inn. “Hey, what is the matter?”

“Nothing,” Grey snapped, but turning to the ranger, she could see the slight concern clouded in his annoyance and anger. “Thorn made me…angry. I never enjoy a kill…he made me enjoy it.”

“So? How could you not?” He asked, sitting beside her as she nursed a bottle of Nord Mead. “Thorn was scum, his men were scum. They were planning, no, they intended to pin you down in Divine’s know where and take you for everything that you are!”

“They wouldn’t have gotten past my armor,” her voice was dark, hard. Bishop could tell she meant her words, but it didn’t change his own feelings.

“Like hell they wouldn’t. You might be strong but even you can’t take on all of them alone,” taking his own swig, Bishop waited for her reply.

“I’ve killed dragons, Bishop,” Grey turned downcast, displeased by his assumption. “I have dealt with trolls, giants, mammoths, Frostbite spiders, wild animals, mages and atronachs. I am more than capable to take down a few bandits.” Taking another swig, she called over Narri for another drink. Bishop sat with her the rest of the night, eating and drinking until sleep and fatigue crawled in. Valga showed them to their shared room, one with two beds. Bishop, with little care, crashed on the soft furs. He might not like some parts of civilized life, but he would never complain about a soft bed.

Grey had to wait until Bishop was deep enough asleep that leaving won’t wake him. She needed to get back to the Sanctuary and explain to Astrid what had happened. She hoped the herb she slipped into Bishop’s drink knocks him out soon.

_/You sleep rather soundly for a murderer, child. How could such a dear innocent child commit such a gruesome kill? But I applaud, you are exactly the raw talent our little…’family’ needs~/_

_/You are alone in this cruel and dark world, but all are welcomed and loved by our dear Night Mother, and protected by our Dread Father. Come and we shall see where your fate lies with us~/_

Grey shivered at the ghostly voice, her eyes darting the room to find the owner of the voice but found no one there, or really no one addressing her in the lonely room. She only heard that voice when no other thoughts invaded her. When she slept or reflected, the voice would come, speak of things as if they had already happened. Perhaps it was just one of her lost memories, trying to surface. Then why is it when she pursued it, it would escape her?

“Sister~” a soft hissed tickled her ear just after midnight. Sitting up, she smiled as those same scales shimmered in the moonlight.

“Hello Brother,” she smiled, hugging the welcoming Argonian. Her eyes glanced to Bishop, a small flutter in her chest seeing he was still alive. She had hopped Veezara didn’t kill him but she could see he was weary of him. “He’s a tag along. I’ll explain back at the Sanctuary.” Nodding, the pair slipped from the room into the shadows. They muffled all sound as they crept around passed out drunks and sleeping patrons in the Inn. Getting outside, it was a straight run around the guards into the woods.

“So much has happened since you left sister,” Veezara whispered. “Rumours of attacks, increased sieges among the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Poor Babette was almost caught feeding on a fallen soldier by a dragon, of all things!” the Argonian caught his sister’s instant concern, her hurried sprint showed. “Don’t worry, Babette is fine. But some good news, our Night Mother has finally arrived.”

“Oh good, at least something has gone right today,” Grey sighed, slowing as they approached the Sanctuary door.

“Oh I don’t know,” a third voice drew their blades, eyeing the shadows. From the bushes, Grey froze as Karnwyr bounded out, rushing to her legs as if she had returned to him. While the wolf busied himself with affectionate whines and mewling for attention, Grey watched as Bishop cleared the treeline.

“Sister,” Veezara growled, unhappy by the development. But Grey knew this man, he would defer to her choice. Taking but a moment, Grey sheathed her blade and approached the confused but otherwise annoyed man.

“Care to explain why her ladyship decided to ditch me for a lizard in the dead of night? Didn’t think you were one for bottom feeders,” before Veezara could cut into the man for his insult, Grey slapped him. Her hand clapping his cheek echoed in the quiet, leaving him more stunned. Karnwyr growled a moment before the shining blue-violet of Grey’s eyes warned him, taking a Beta stance and edging back.

“Do. Not. Insult my brother like that again,” she hissed. “I…I couldn’t have you discovering this side of me…not until I could trust you.”

“We’ve killed together, you’ve done right by me. That isn’t enough for you?” Bishop hissed, holding his cheek. There was no blood or injury, just a heated red cheek.

“Would you?” Hold his angered glare, it soften a moment considering her answer. “Look, had you been anyone else, Veezara would’ve killed you in the Inn or here. Call me sentimental, you are lucky to have your life…” her pause masked her charge, an ethereal dagger conjured in her hand against his throat. “But if you _ever_ reveal this location. Or tell _anyone_ about my family or what I am. I will kill you, and no one will find you.” She waited for his witty remark, waiting for something snarky or cocky, maybe even fight back. But he didn’t, Bishop remained still save for a confirming nod. “Good. Best you return to the village, might as well use that room until morning…I promise I’ll return then and explain everything.” Releasing his neck, leaving nothing to mar his skin or any injury. Bishop remained silent, a silence that cut deep. No words were exchanged as he headed back into Falkreath. Grey only hoped he might understand why, she could only hope.


	5. Obligations and Life Changes

“This way,” Veezara ushered her through the sanctuary. Strange how empty the Sanctuary was. Usually Astrid would be mulling over her map but she was nowhere to be found. Rushed by Veezara’s hurry, they moved deeper, the telltale signs of voices and conversation leading them into the living quarters, where Astrid had assembled everyone around the dining table.

“I’ve received word the Night Mother and her Keeper will arrive any day now,” Astrid explained, “But with these recent dragon attacks it’s going to take a little longer.”

“Let’s pray they make it here alright,” Festus mused, being one of the oldest members he held a foreign view toward the Night Mother compared to the others. Grey had to agree with him, however. Be it merely her own views of their unholy matron or something stretching deeper than that, something just spoke to her whenever the Mother was the subject.

“Do we have any idea why dragons are suddenly popping out of the works?” Nazir asked, looking around the table before spotting Grey and Veezara entering. “Perhaps our wayward sister might enlighten us.” His comment drew everyone’s attention. Seeing the woman, Babette rushed from her seat. The little vampire lapped up the attention Grey would give her, given she had such a soft spot for children, regardless of their age it would seem.

“Welcome home, sister!” acting much like the child she was, Babette’s arms engulfed Grey’s neck as she raised her into her arms.

“It is good to be home, Babette,” Grey smiled, any tension she had prior slowly ebbed away as muscles uncoiled and stress vanished. “As for you Nazir…I have something that might shed light.” Placing Babette back on her chair, Grey stood before them. “I…was still in Helgen when the first dragon sighting occurred.” Gabriella was at her side in an instant. The pair took their ‘sisterly’ connection more seriously than most of the family; always seeming to rush to one another when one was hurt or sick, this time was no different.

“You appear intact, you were able to escape and complete your other contracts,” Astrid cupped her cheek, Grey still found it bothersome that the older woman believed she had control over her. “So then, my dear, what news do you have regarding the dragons?” Grey paused a moment. How could she explain? Killing not one but two dragons, journeying to High Hrothgar and discovering her legacy. Even getting tangled in the affairs of the Blades? Would they believe her? Or would they abandon her? She pondered until her mind found a solution. Honesty would prevent any harm to her in the future.

“After reporting the attack to the Jarl of Whiterun, for the sake of appearance of course, another dragon attacked,” she always found it amusing that Astrid allowed her these outside connections, if only to use them for the Brotherhood’s benefit. Taking her seat, Gabriella to her left and Veezara to her right, she continued. “I could…understand him, somehow. Much like the first he seemed to recognise me, from where I couldn’t say at the time.” Babette leaned in, as did Festus; both being the apothecary and mage within the family, anything of a curious nature grabbed their attentions. “Once the dragons was vanquished, a loud shout rocked the skies. A shout from the Greybeards.”

“Greybeards? You mean those…relics locked away atop a mountain? What could they possibly want?” Arnbjorn asked. Given he was a Nord as well, he had been told the tales and stories behind the Greybeards.

“They…knew who I was.” This cast a silence over the small family. Astrid paused while others waited in anticipation. “Apparently…I am the surviving descendant of Sotzinvahlok…Second son of Akatosh.” The silence only held a moment before Arnbjorn, Nazir, Veezara, Festus and Astrid cracked into laughter.

“You?! The Grand-daughter of a Divine?!” Nazir snorted.

“A limp, weak scrap like you?!” Arnbjorn jeered.

“Preposterous!” Festus snapped.

Grey frowned as her family continued to cackle and disregard her news. Her frown grew as their mocking became more than just good fun, leading her to have a little fun of her own. Standing to the group, she took in a slow deep breath. Her movements caught their attention, as she intended, and with her lungs full and words chosen, she turned away.

“ ** _YOR TOOR SHUL!_** ” Fire swarmed and whipped from her mouth, scorching the stone walls. The shout silenced their taunts and cackles, the pride welling up as she turned back to them. Even if they didn’t accept her news, she was confident they were proven wrong. The remainder of night was kept with discussing contracts, sharing stories and meals and ending with sleep. Grey couldn’t help but smile as Babette snuggled in close to her side. A dangerous and old vampire and yet she retained all of her childish innocence. Smiling, she held her close and slipped into the sweet embrace of a dream.

/You sleep rather soundly for a murderer, child. How could such a dear innocent child commit such a gruesome kill? But I applaud, you are exactly the raw talent our little…’family’ needs~/

/You are alone in this cruel and dark world, but all are welcomed and loved by our dear Night Mother, and protected by our Dread Father. Come and we shall see where your fate lies with us~/

Grey only found darkness; an endless pit surrounding her in darkness. She couldn’t see anything, no light and no shadows standing out. She tried to strain her vision as much as possible to pinpoint any soul in this void but found none, until a slithering form brushed past her.

“ _Who’s there?!_ ” she snapped, pulling her blade and picking up her guard. Straining her senses for any indication of what had trapped her here but found nothing. Again there was a slither but it brushed against her leg, freezing her stiff. It slithering, wrapping her legs as it continued to travel higher and higher. Fearing it would spell her end, a gentle hand then took her cheek and the chill came back. It warmed her somehow, leaning into the touch.

“Oh my dear Listener~ How I have missed you,” a head rested on hers, forehead to forehead. “Stripped from my arms by Aedric Gods, ripped away from His death by ancient magic. But you are leading a path back to us. Come back, my Ro~”

Gasping, sweat rolled down her forehead and cheeks. The dream was so intense, so…Ro? That’s what the voice said…or was saying. Her name was really Ro? No, it sounded like a part of her name, it began with ‘Ro’.

“Grey?” snapped from her thoughts, Grey looked down to find Babette’s concerned gaze. Shaking her memories, she smiled and petted Babette’s hair. She refused to give into the pampering, knowing something had shaken Grey in her dreams, but despite her pestering the older woman removed herself from the bed to make off for another day.

Though her ebony armour had served her well, Grey couldn’t shake the sense she needed something more…dark. She had forged the armour at the Atronach Forge in the College of Winterhold; after of course being forced to take classes in order to gain access to the halls. Opening her armoire, she marvelled at the dark and serrated mixed armour. Thin yet strong Oblivion-touches metal with thick daedric hide wrapped in the strongest enchantments she could find. Like a glove it hugged to her, fitting like a second skin.

Wrapping a black scarf and veil around her neck and head, readjusting her ebony scale-leather cape, she ventured into the dining area for food, supplies and to see if Nazir was awake. Collecting some contracts would give her something worth doing while out and about search for an answer to sending Alduin.

Much like she suspected, the Redguard assassin was sitting at his usual place and eating a platter of bread, fruits and ale. Seeing her as she gathered food and drink into her pack, he smirked and handed over a few folded papers.

“Something a little extra, since you might be away longer this time,” Knowing his sister well, she accepts the contracts and his kind words, quickly pinching an apple from the surprised man. Snickering, she sauntered off as Nazir snickered from her impetuous act.

Saying her goodbyes and hugging Gabriella and Babette, Gret slipped out of the sanctuary. Watching the road, inspecting in case a Falkreath guard or war patrol came through. However, all she found was Bishop and Karnwyr waiting for her. Sighing, rolling her eyes, she walked up the path and past them. The wolf, unlike his master, eagerly took to her side and accepted the small pat she gave. Bishop, with less glee than his companion, fell into step beside her.

“Care for that explanation?” he stated moreso than asked, watching as she whistled into the thicket. Duneyrr appeared from the brush and clopped to her side. Accepting his welcome, Grey paused a moment to ponder Bishop’s request. Instead, she climbed onto Duneyrr and offered her hand to him. Accepting, pulled onto the stag’s back and situated behind his rider, Bishop waited.

“It…started four years ago…”

* * *

Informed and a little wiser, Bishop had fallen silent after Grey explained herself from last night. Memory loss, acceptance in an organization build on blood, steel and shadow, to now. Whether his opinion of her changed or not was his to know alone. He had figured she withheld something of herself, not revealing too much of herself, but when he asked that obvious point, she replied in a rather pointed voice.

“Why hold anything back. This is who I am, if you don’t like that; it’s not my problem.”

Grey didn’t notice nor seemed to care what Bishop thought of her quote, what she needed to focus on was to get through this stupid mission. Entering the city, slipping by the crowds witnessing the execution of a traitor. She spared a glance at the Nord, taking his punishment with pride. A true nord to the end but his reasoning was misplaced; allowing Ulfric to escape after ‘honourably’ killing High King Torygg with his Thu’um.

Leaving before the axe drops, she turned to the Inn. Stepping in, she found the inn mostly empty save for the innkeeper and the bard. Bishop made the discovery, spotting a Bosmer alone in the back corner. Pointing him out, Bishop watches as she approaches the elf and strike up whatever plan was in place. Taking a seat at the bar, ordering a strong, stiff drink, he waited for Grey to finish. He could see her from his place, noting how she appeared tense and agitated. She was obviously annoyed with the elf, continuously waving off small quips and snaps while trying to progress through. In the end, she walked away only to come back and hand over her armour. What she wore in place of it made Bishop freeze.

A black and red style tavern garb. Added to it were leggings and long gloves for the cold, but the way it hugged to build yet slender body made the ranger stiffen. She had no shame, none at all as she walks back to Bishop.

“What?” she quipped, watching the stiff man.

“Have you no shame?” he asked, seeming strained and barely in control.

“Pull your head from the latrine,” Grey snapped, “Do you expect me to walk around in my small clothes when I have no armour?” Observing the ranger, she glared when his eyes and language showed interest in her comment.

“I wouldn’t object,” he smirked, rising from his chair. “I would be a nice change of scenery.” Bishop felt cold metal against his neck, glancing down to find Grey’s daedric dagger at his neck. No words need to be said, Bishop raised a hand in defence while the other moved to his own dagger. Feeling she made her point, Grey sheathed her blade and moved out of the inn, Bishop close behind. It was strange, she could feel his eyes on her, roaming her lower back and backside and yet, Grey didn’t feel compelled to lash out or even maim him for it. Yet his advances and glances reminded her of that wretch in Falkreath, it did beg the question.

“Bishop,” perking at hearing her voice, Grey didn’t stop nor turn to face him. Her hand lay upon her dagger in case she might need it. “Have you ever considered taking me as your prisoner, like Thorn had wanted to?”

“Maybe a fantasy or two,” an honest answer, he wasn’t even trying to deny it. Grey wasn’t sure how to make of that, how to feel about a man she was travelling and fighting with had fantasied about taking her.

“Truly?” Grey spared a glance back, seeing Bishop’s lips pull back in a charming smirk, revealing his pointed canines followed with the predatory gleam sparkling in his eyes. “You know I could kill you before you get the chance.”

“That just makes it more of a challenge, my lady,” figuring he could have that bone, Grey left the issue and moved on to the Katla’s Farm. She ignored the farmer and his family, casting a concern look to Blaise, the little Breton stable boy. When the boy noticed her, she slipped him a fresh apple which, in his thanks, ran off to quickly eat it before his employer noticed. Passing the others, Grey groaned at seeing Delphine. Wishing this to get this over with, she approached the woman and prayed this would be worth it in the end.

* * *

Grey cursed how wrong she was.

Able to bring Bishop along to keep appearances was the only advantage here, considering now they had most of the Thalmor forces trying to find them. Wrapped in an invisibility spell and Bishop downing an invisibility potion, the pair moved through the ground to Elenwen’s study. It was easy to dispatch of anyone inside before the invisibility wore off, leaving the pair the time to search the office before more guards arrived.

“Too bad we couldn’t stick around, that Thane looked ready to throw a fit when that servant stiffed him,” Bishop chuckled, recalling Erikur’s failed attempts at wooing a Bosmer servant. “And it would seem to pay having a few people in your pocket.”

“Bulgruff is my Jarl, Bishop,” Grey replied, throwing aside books of little interest. “Besides, he’s a good friend too. Though managing to convince Maven Blackbriar, of all people, to cause a scene was an achievement.”

“How did you convince her? I hear she isn’t easily swayed,” Bishop turned to Grey, pleased to see her back in her daedric style armour, though he did like how that dress hugged her frame.

“She has ties to the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, ties I hold too. We made a small agreement and she had to pay was a small distraction,” showing her own smirk, Grey’s fingers brushed against wooden book. It looked real though some of its leather skin was worn and thin. Shifting the book tripped a mechanism, not a trap but perhaps a hidden secret. A small click from the floor popped open a board, one what Grey was careful to open up. She found several tripwires within, only someone aware and knew of the wires could remove its contents safely, thankfully she was adept at disarming traps. Bishop watched as she slipped her dagger into the expanse, focused on nicking the right wires before fishing out the object. With the object removed and the last wire nicked, a small spell erupted with flames as the board fell closed.

“Strange, why have a magical trap along with an intricate wire trap?” Bishop mused, watching as Grey held up a book.

“When it details something you don’t want anyone to see,” opening the silken pages, Grey scanned over the pages while Bishop turned his attention back to the room, spying a chest they had yet to ransack. Grey remained attentive of the diary, skipping pages and scanning its contents – it could prove useful to keep it.

“Well well, look at these,” looking up, Grey saw Bishop scanning through small notebooks and a folded up note. “It would seem your… _employer_ was right about something. Thalmor aren’t behind the dragons but they seem to know more than she does.” Handing over one of the books, Grey found it detailed Ulfric Stormcloak, of all people, and regarding his influence and input to the First War and how his fissure in Skyrim would benefit them. Another was of Delphine, noting her hampering their operations as well as her level as a threat. The last was their objective; what the Thalmor knew of the dragons returning. Apparently there was someone of interest in the dungeons, one they assumed was still alive.

“We need to find this lead, before they silence him,” Grey turned to a back hall, where stairs led below. Bishop followed close behind, crouching low as the key opened the locked door. They could hear voices below, scanning the room they spotted a man chain and caged with two Altmer guards standing by another mage. He seemed to be interrogating him, scribbling down notes as he went. Silent and still, Grey pointed to Bishop to use the other stairway, setting up for a sneak attack. Liking the idea, Bishop nodded and hurried to the other stairs. Grey, stilling herself, slipped down her stairs and peeked around a corner. There was a guard close by and Bishop could be seen slipping into view, moving to her guard with a dagger raised, none knew what happened until both guards lay splayed on the ground and an arrow lodged in the mage’s head.

Bishop moved to the cell, picking the lock while Grey sifted through the mage’s papers. Coming to a large chest beside the desk, she found it strange as its only occupant was a small journal. While Bishop amused himself with helping the prisoner and looting the dead elves, she opened the journal to scan its contents. Esbern? Was this someone Delphine knew? The journal said he was one of the Blade’s ‘Loremasters’ and had been a part of the War. Aparently he had been a bigger thorn in their side than Delphine. Another note stated it was he the Thalmor were looking for in regards to the dragons.

“Ladyship,” still unsure why Bishop would call her that, Grey turned to the Ranger. “Our little guest here seemed to be interrogated for information on some old bag the Thalmor are looking for.” Indicating to the prisoner, sitting off to the side nursing his strained and bruised wrists.

Movement above them caught their attention, turning back to the upper level to find a Thalmor Justicar, two Thalmor guards and Malborn. Grey groaned, she knew what was going to happen next. The Justicar would use Malborn as leverage to get her to comply. Well, he just threatened the wrong Nord.

“Surrender now or…” an arrow sliced through the mage, silencing him and warning the others of an attack. Grey notched another arrow and took out the guard ready to strike Malborn while Bishop shot the guard holding him. Shaken, Malborn just stared at the pair.

“Well, do you want to leave or not?” snapped back by Grey’s words, Malborn ran down to the lower level as the prisoner showed them the way out. Though it lead to a troll’s den, the beast was easily subdued and allowed all of them to escape. Not in the bright light of Skyrim, Grey turned to the prisoner, recognising him in an instant.

“Etienne?” at hearing his name, the prisoner turned shocked as Grey removed her hood and cowl.

“Grey?” shock quickly turned to joy as the Breton embraced the Nord woman. “By the Divine’s am I glad you came! Did Brynjolf send you?”

“Common circumstances really,” Grey replied, becoming oblivious to Bishop and Malborn. “The guild thought you were on a job.”

“I was, until those Thalmor pricks caught me,” the Breton hissed, but the anger dimmed with a relieve smile. “Thanks again, sister. I won’t forget this.” Embracing one last hug, Etienne headed back to Riften and to report to Brynolf.

“Wait! What about this Esbern?” waving the diary, the Breton smiled.

“It’s the old kook paying protection in the Ratway!” disappearing into the trees, Grey stood still. That crabby old man was who Delphine was looking for?! He had been living there for nearly a year now. Shaking her head, she turned to Malborn. Though shaken, she forced the elf to take what they had found back to Delphine. After everything that had happened, she could not deal with the insufferable woman.

“Ladyship,” the growl was strange, snapped from her thoughts she turned back to Bishop. His fists clenched, his teeth bared, his resolve only managed to hold back his apparent anger. Cocking an eyebrow, she noticed Malborn took his leave, nodding to him as Bishop approached. “Who…was that man?”

“An acquaintance. I have ties to the Thieves Guild after helping them out a little while ago,” she could see that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “What does it matter? So I know a Breton thief, that isn’t world changing new…” To her surprise, both in his ability to throw her off guard and that he now had her pinned the rock face. His eyes were intense, glaring down at her while his hand, placed either side of her head, trapping her against the cliff. “Bishop…?” But the ranger said nothing, his tension easing as whatever had driven him slipped away. With a sigh, Bishop pulled away and turned away, as if the exchange had never happened.

“We better leave before the Thalmor find us,” his otherwise snarky and sly tone drew low and almost in mourning. Why? Bishop had never acted like this before, so why now? Brushing herself off, she sped to the lead.

“Hold on there,” she snapped, her hand placed square of his chest to stop his retreat. She could feel him tense beneath the touch but frankly she didn’t care. No one had ever done that to her before without provocation. “Where in oblivion did that come from?”

“It’s none of your concern,” curt and abrupt, Bishop tried to push by her by Grey refused to move. Adding her other hand to his chest, noticing again the way he stiffened.

“The void it is!” Grey snapped, pushing Bishop a moment. “You tried to pin me to a rockface, and for what? Because I knew a Breton thief? You’ve never had issues with the other company I keep…” then she saw it. Something deep in his eyes, the same orbs trying to stay away from her gaze. “Or…was it the fact this time it was a man…a _human_ man.” That did it, Bishop crashed into her and sending them both to the ground. Karnwyr yipped, moving away as Bishop’s growl rumbled in his throat.

“You don’t know what you say,” he growled, but he made no move to dissuade her.

“You may think me blind, deaf and dumb to the world because I’m a woman, Bishop, but your own prejudice has become bothersome,” matching a hiss to his growl. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you glance when you think I don’t notice. The way you steal touches as you do glances. You even move closer to me when you think me oblivious! I am not naïve, I am not stupid. I am well aware of your intentions.”

“Then say it and be done with it!” Bishop snapped. “If you truly think you know more than me, that you are so perceptive, then say it.” Leaning over her, his body forced closer to her to show his intent, to show how serious he was. A smirk came through as her glare faltered only a moment before the steel mask slipped back on.

“Why bother voicing the obvious,” she sneered, unimpressed by his chauvinistic and toying demeanour. She refused to indulge or encourage this. “Just please try to restrain yourself, it demeans us both.” It was left moot, both remaining silent yet both agreeing to let rest.

Walking ahead gave Grey the chance to contemplate what just happened. No other has really shown, let alone hinted, they wished a more intimate coupling with her. Not that she reciprocated. There was no need in her opinion, no one ever caught her attention in such a way. Either they were intimidated or simply never asked. But since she started travelling with Bishop, catching his glances and feeling his heated stares. Something inside just, it erupted like a campfire, warming and burning a dim light but grew the longer he stared. She began to return stares herself, glancing to the ranger when he wasn’t aware or looking. She could admit, Bishop was a divine example of a man, more of a man than many she had an acquaintance with.

Karnwyr broke her from her thoughts, growls and barks before bolting away from the pair. Bishop didn’t seem too concerned, moving to catch up with his partner and see what he found. Grey didn’t think too much on it, keeping her pace until she caught up with the pair. Karnwyr sniffed and whined at something strewn across the paved path. Bishop knelt down over the object, inspecting it. Grey, finding her interest, loomed over the ranger to see this interest for herself.

Her heart froze, her blood chilled. Her thoughts of before lost as they were replaced with shock, fear, anger and disbelief.

“Duneyrr?”

Duneyrr. Lying dead in the middle of the road. Though his remains were mangled and stripped of some hide, his head and antlers, he could always be distinguished by a pattern marring his coat. How...how could this have happened? Grey stood frozen, shocked and numb to the sight of her closest companion, dead at her feet.

“Ladyship,” Bishop turned to her, standing beside her but could see in her eyes, he had to be cautious. The way her eyes grew bright and flickered, the way her pupils would quiver between orbs and slits, it meant she was getting angry; something to be cautious around. “From the cuts, looks like Forsworn,” pulling out a forsworn arrow lodged in his flank and ripped chest. But there was something Grey noticed.

Magic licked and wafted through her hands and arms, the spell reaching away from her and into the distance. “Wait here.” It was all she said before walking off into the direction of the spell. Bishop didn’t argue, but despite the tone in her voice promised for him, he refused to listen.

The spell had led Grey to a Forsworn camp, but not just any. Her eyes glared at none other than the ‘King’ of the Forsworn. She recalled the last encounter with him in Cidhna Mine; using him as a means of escape before killing him for all the trouble he had caused to not just Markarth but to herself too. Rewarded by the Silver-blood family, she wasn’t surprised to see the stubborn fool alive. One or two of his followers must’ve recovered his body given there was a Hagraven in the vicinity. These...butchers, had the gall to use her dear companion in some sick ritual.

Anger and hate were fuelling her movements, moving straight into the camp. Two sentinels saw her approach and moved to kill her, but neither knew of Grey precision. Their death cries signalled the camp, watching the angered Nord approach. The Hagraven growled and hissed while the other Forsworn crowded with weapons drawn. Madanach calmed his people, approaching the advancing Grey.

“Welcome, Daughter of Skyrim. I see you found our little ‘invitation’?”  He smirked, but seemed annoyed at the sight of his kin’s blood on her folded blade and dagger.

“Madanach. A Briarheart now?” nodding to the gaping hole in his chest were a Briar heart now resided.

“A gift from my people, one that would not be needed if you had not killed me,” his own hate showed as he drew his own weapons. “Perhaps I shall gift you to those who stole our true home. Show those invaders that we, the Men of the Reach, can slay the mighty dragon clad in human flesh.” He twirled and tricked with his blades, making a show and mockery of her approach. “Or even offer you to our Gods, they will feast on your strong soul while giving us power beyond mortals.” Turning to the Hagraven, her own smirk curled her decrepit lips, but hers disappeared as fast as it had come, leaving the king concerned. Turning back to Grey, he had no time to react. Run through, he felt her serrated dagger dig deep, carving his Briar heart from its cavity.

“No. Only forsworn blood shall run. Only your souls shall feed the void,” he gasped, the look in her eyes. Beyond her knowledge, Grey’s eyes began to glow with an inner flame while her pupils became slits, not unlike an Argonians but the strange crystalline of her blue-violet ice irises looked like a soul gleaming through a soul gem. “ _Hail Sithis~_ ” In good measure, Grey wrenched the blade from his exploding gullet and swung hard, cleaving his head from his body. In her hand she held the bloodied briar, throwing it aside like scraps as she turned to the advancing forces.

“ ** _YOL TOOR SHUL!!!!!_** ”

* * *

 

Bishop was shocked to see Grey in such a frenzy. From that cry he heard he thought there was a dragon nearby. When she finally stopped, her body hunched over as the blood of the slain dripped off her. Her breathing came out in large huffs, trying to contain the rage still billowing off her like flames. Wisps of such ghostly flames licked at her lips, floating on her ragged gasps. Any might’ve thought she was a dragon in human guise.

With practised caution, Bishop approached, Karnwyr staying back. The wolf knew not to approach, the threat was still very real. Coming from the front, Bishop ensured that Grey could see him, see he wasn’t an enemy. She didn’t move nor acknowledge him, even when he was in front of her.

“Grey…they’re dead…you’re okay.” He had to say something. It was all he could muster. Bishop knew he would be in the same state if he had found Karnwyr like that. He would not stop until the hunters were all slaughtered. But Grey, he knew her temper was great, matching any attacking dragon, and he knew this would not sate her.

He could already tell from her tense body, her eyes shaking, she was ready to pounce again. “It’s done, you’ve killed them all.”

“Not…all…” Bishop tensed when she moved, sheathing the bloodied and stained Daedric blades she carried, walking to the corpse of the Forsworn whom addressed her. Still with a blade in hand, her cut was clean and quick, wrenching the head from the corpse. “Markarth…now.” Despite his dislike for such disregard, Bishop still followed. This needed to end, she needed the closure. He knew how it felt to be ruled by emotions, but something like this could consume everything. She needed to run it through or be taken by it. And he intended to be there to free her.

Coming up to the Dwemer city, Grey showed no care to the guards nor to the citizens greeting her. Entering the treasure house, she knew they hadn’t closed yet. Upon entering, the young Rhiada recognised her and moved to a back room, no doubt to warn Thonar of her arrival. Said man appeared with her, gesturing back to his room. He knew better than to test her after that whole Conspiracy two winters back. Bishop remained in the main room, he almost felt sorry for the Nord having to contend with her anger. Almost.

“And what can I help you with now, Grey?” he asked, not particularly interested in her qualms. “I’ll have you know I’m a busy man, what with those accursed Forsworn riling up a ruckus again.” Grey didn’t care for his qualms either, dropping a bag on the table.

“That shouldn’t be a problem now.” Thonar was curious, staring at the bag and even noting the blood dried in the material. Sneaking a peek, he gasped and looked away.

“They’ll have both our heads if you’ve defiled his burial!” Thonar hissed, gesturing to the bag. Grey ignored him, producing the same Briar Heart she had ripped from the King.

“When were you going to mention his body was never buried to begin with?” she demanded, slamming the Briarheart onto the table. “Why was it that I had to kill him again after he butchered my Duneyrr?!!” her thu’um rocked the room, no doubt scaring the others outside and giving the Silver-blood another reason to give her a wide berth.

“I assure you I was given the same information as you. That he was taken to the temple of Arkay for burial, how he was returned to those savages and resurrected is news to me, but would explain why they have been more active.” Thonar looked to her again, noting how upset she was. “Look, I cannot replace this ‘Duneyrr’, for that I am sorry, but I will endeavour to find out how Madanach was returned to them, no doubt the guards were bribed or paid for handing him over. For now, all I can do is thank you for resolving the issue and compensate you.”

“You can ‘compensate’ me when you find out how his body was returned. I _personally_ wish to ask why whoever took that bribe did what they did.” Grey seethed, storming from the room without a care what the old fool thought. All she could focus on was the hollowing chill billowing from the pit of her chest into every nerve. Duneyrr was more than just a mount. More than just another animal to her. He was family, the only she could see as family. Butchered and left to rot. The anger drove her hot, driving her from Markarth and back into the wilds. She needed to vent, she needed to kill, she needed…needed.

“Hold on!” Bishop broke through the haze consuming her. Grasping her arms and wrenching her from her path. “Stop.”

“Why? Why should I?!” she snapped, throwing a punch at the ranger. It barely did anything, half-hearted and weak. Her anger, like heated metal, began to cool. Tears tickled her eyes, her hollow chest filling with sorrow, overflowing the brim and consuming her completely. Bishop held her, unsure how to comfort the woman and yet he remained firm. Just letting her hold him, grounding herself as the sobs wracked her body.

He just hoped this wasn’t going to happen often. He hated seeing strong women cry.


	6. Feelings develop and Memories' reward

Finding a safe place to camp, Bishop prepared a fire while Karnwyr remained close to Grey. Nuzzled close, head in her lap, she tried distracting herself with petting the affectionate wolf. It was still very strange she was petting an animal who could rip her throat out. Still, it warmed her a little to find this vicious beast yip and growl happy when she scratched his ears or rubbed his belly.

Bishop was neglected, she watched as he managed the burning bonfire and handled cooking a meal. She watched, still confused to what he had done not long ago. He held her, put up with her tears. He didn’t push her away nor did he demand she stop. And yet any other time he would’ve complained, snapped and yelled at her. If he had a problem with her was hardly her concern but he seemed to flip from one to another.

“Here,” catching her attention from his mulling hound, Grey watched Bishop hand her a bowl of broth. Venison stew by the smell and texture. Perhaps his own sick way of telling her to move on, giving her something made from the elk he hunted near camp. Not a word but a whisper of a thank you as she took in the warm soup. Something else was in the broth, something sweet mixed with the broth. Looking down, a small bundle of crushed juniper berries mixed with the meat changed the taste.

“Why?” finding her voice, she stayed intent on her meal while Bishop looked up to her. “Why are you being so…nice all of a sudden?”

“What? Would you rather I leave you to wallow in self-grief and petty anger? Even after you slaughtered the ones who dared cross you?” he quipped, his farrowed brows showing his annoyance for the question yet they creased back, that same charming smirk crawled back onto his face. “Or, would you rather it I merely rip the armour from your body, pin you to me bedroll and have my way with you?”

“Forever the deviant, it’s any wonder anyone can get a straight answer from you,” she knew he was just dodging the question, but his actions were speaking more than what he really wanted to convey. “Thank you…” looking up, she offered the ranger a rare smile. Nothing snide or sly or fake, but a real smile. “For everything.” Bishop didn’t reply, not that he needed to. She had spoken her peace and given her thanks. Maybe she could get by Duneyrr’s butchery. She pushed aside the detailed memories, with great difficulty, and tried to focus on other priorities. For one, she had a few contracts to fulfil before returning to the Sanctuary. A stray thought wandered to, maybe, recruiting Bishop. He seemed to like the idea of killing people and getting paid for it. But she knew he would dislike the number of rules and traditions the Brotherhood instilled, or at least what Astrid instilled. She had to break a smile at the thought of Astrid trying to control Bishop as she tried with her. What an amusing sight.

Along with her contracts, she had to return to Riverwood to tell Delphine about this Esbern. After the embassy debacle she fully intended to tell Delphine to do her own dirty work from now on. She wanted little to do with the Blades more than ever now. But then there was the issue regarding the dragons and her own shady past involving them. The daughter of a dragon? Huh? She never really stopped to consider that. Sure she had been told when she was angry she was like an angry dragon but beyond that it wasn’t something ground breaking. Babette once told her that her eyes would become slits in times of anger or seem confused as to what shape to take. Those times were often due to resurfacing memories.

Lingering on those memories, it grew late enough that fatigue crept up on her. Splayed out on her bedroll, Bishop lying opposite her with the warm fire between them, Karnwyr remained on watch; his acute senses able to pick up anything approaching them.

Slipping into dreams, they remained dark and hooded for a time until something broke through.

/~ _The night was only drawn, the stars out and dancing outside the window. Dressed in a silken slip, a child curled tight to the warm fur pelts and cotton blankets decorating her bed. Then sounds, footsteps entering her room. A woman dressed in refinement, her face pale in fear and terror, sparing no words as she collected the child into her arms, blankets and all._

_Then the screams, barely heard through the sleepy eyes. Heat and flames licking around her until toppling from the woman’s arms jolted her awake. Her innocent eyes took in the carnage around her. Bodies, blood seeping into the soil and stone while knights and warriors fought against the approaching enemy. One approached her, shadowed and cloaked in red with a single sun, a sword raised above his head._

_Another gleaming blade took his head, revealing another warrior very different from the last. Drappled in scale leather and protected with dragon bone. Blackets and hide discarded, the man with ashen hair and a greying beard scooped her into his arms and charged away. Her eyes caught the noble woman, several arrows protruded her back showing her end. The rushed charged burred the battle around her, held close to the man’s chest and shielded from attacks and hailing arrows._

_Coming to the coast, another waited for them. Thinner, leaner, nervous as a rabbit surrounded by wolves and just as skittish the moment he spotted. Exchanged hands again, she was handed to the smaller man. But she didn’t want to leave her saviour. She tried to reach back, crying and struggling against the other until the ashen warrior cupped her cheek._

_Lahney, mal dovah. Lahney ahrk drun zin wah hin faan (Live, little Dragon. Live and bring honour to your name)_ ~/

“Wake up! Wake up damn it!” the sudden shaking jolted Grey from her sleep. Surprised and wide-eyed, she turned to Bishop…and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Despite the harshness and scolding in his voice, his eyes sparkled and shone with concern, worry and desperation. But why? They had only been sleeping. What had happened? What changed?

“Bishop?” it was all she could muster, watching as the concern and worry swiftly took a leave, replaced with anger and annoyance.

“Do you want to attract every bandit in the area with your screaming?” Bishop hissed, watching as she sat up. She had been screaming? Why? Her dream was just beyond her grasp…or was it a distant memory?

“Sorry…I don’t…” clutching her head, trying to recall the dream, Bishop sighed. Was he concerned about being discovered? Or the fact he was worried about her?

“Hard to believe you’re the dragonborn right now,” perking up, his statement confused her, until those hooded smoldering eyes caught hers again. “You look more like a scared little girl, who met a big bad wolf.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she snapped, standing from her bedroll.

“It’s the truth,” Bishop affirmed, standing with her.

“Well sometimes ‘the truth’ needs to mind its own business,” turning from the ranger, she began to pack her part of the camp. The sun was just rising and there was no point in going back to sleep; not like she could anyway. The memory of the dream may have been obscure but the feelings it left were as clear as water. The heat of the fires, the wisps of arrows flying by her skin, the tears burning her eyes, the warmth of arms holding her. The memories were broken as Bishop’s hands dispersed them, wrenching her mind back to him as he forced her to stop packing. “What?! What do you want from me, Bishop?!” she snapped, the stresses of yesterday and the haunting ghosts of her memories driving her annoyance and stress to its breaking point, but all seemed to freeze as Bishop stood closer than normal.

“You.” Quick, curt and exploding a mountain of questions. What? What did he mean by that?

“What? Is that some kind of offer?” her confusion grew as his eyes smouldered again. Everything was beginning to change, change into something she didn’t understand. Why was he so unbearably close? Why was her body heating up again because of it?

“If it was an offer, would you take it?” growling, Grey pulled away. Her emotions and thoughts were in turmoil. She should be angry, annoyed and yet she could feel warmth, fear, hope for something she didn’t fully comprehend. Bishop caught her before she could run, his arms firm as they held her in place. “A yes or a no, a simple answer.”

“To a not so simple question. What do you want?” Grey pleaded, something to clarify why she was feeling like this and not about to beat him senseless.

“I told you. You. I want you,” pulled ever closer, she could feel the heat of his breath across her cheeks. “Don’t you feel it as well? Does it burn inside you as it does me?” Now he was scaring her. No man of any race she had come into contact with acted like this. It was new, unexplored, and for once she was nervous and scared.

“Why would you ask me this?” curiosity driven by her fear, she needed an answer as much as he did.

“I can’t control it anymore, after all that has happened…I want you now!” His desperation was written all across his face, his eyes aflame with passion and restrained need, but Grey just couldn’t come to terms, could feel the same way and yet, she needed to know it wasn’t just his needs he wished satisfied.

“Then…show me,” taken at a pause, Grey’s eyes turned hard to him. “Show me! Or prove that this will only be a momentary fling, where you rip my heart from my chest and leave it scattered, where I wake up alone the next morning after you’ve taken your need,” managing to break his hold, her annoyance finally broke through the sea of her confusion. “I am not interest in little flings, nor am I a woman who whores herself to any who ask. Show me your intent or be cut down.” Grey heard his slow exhale, a deep sigh of warmth he had been holding back. Then, like a feral hound, he broke from his leash.

Whatever reservations that had been holding him back were discarded as he again bridged the gap between them.

Lunging forward, arms wrapping around her before she could counter. Arms pinned to her sides as his lips crashed down on hers. Her eyes widened in surprise and shock while his body pressed again hers, leaving nothing from touching the other. His tongue wrestled and toyed with her tongue, his lips pressed and moving to mould with her own. The sudden heat from the embrace triggered an automatic response, a moan gargling from her throat as Bishop gripped her tighter. Then, pulled slow, Bishop broke the kiss to marvel his work. Grey lips were swollen and red, her mouth opened and panted for the stolen breaths lost to the kiss.

“Bishop…” she gasped, uneasy on her legs. Supported, she looked up into his eyes. There were no lies to his act, but the hunger they once had now turned into a barely controlled frenzy. Snapping forward, his teeth caught her lower lips, placing a slight pressure before leaning in, his lips pressed to suck. Narrowed in satisfaction, he eyed the gasp and quivered shakes her body racked from the sensation. Releasing his captive, watching as she regained her composure, a wicked grin curled this dark lips.

* * *

She couldn’t shake the feeling from her lips, fighting the urge to touch them and recall the kiss. She knew Bishop was watching her, to see her squirm and taking amusement of her struggles. Now though, she knew he meant it in good fun and good faith. Had he intended to distract her or deter her she would know but now she could see, this was just his means of…reminding her she was just as human, as mortal, as everyone else.

Pressing onward on their journey, they travelled into Morthal to start Grey’s brotherhood contracts. Bishop was particularly happy doing in the Orc Bard Lurbuk. His singing was atrocious and grating to both the mind and the ears.

Next came Dawnstar. Though the Argonian contract, some depth diver called Deekus, was hovering some wreak Northest of the city, it grew too late and too cold to find him. Cursing the hopelessness of the local inn and their limited rooms, the pair had to share a bed. Grey remained adamant to Bishop that it didn’t mean they would warm one another but waking the next morning, she found herself held in his arms. Where she would’ve kicked him from the bed, she found herself staring. She had never seen Bishop so…calm. Often times his sleep was light, leaving a stern scowl while he slept. But here, his face was relaxed and he appeared to actually be sleeping. The soft rise and fall of his chest brought a calm to her too, relaxing and waiting for him to awaken.

Keeping her little discovery to herself, they left the city and headed for the shipwreak for the contract. The kill had been easy, the Argonian had no time to dodge Grey’s arrow.

Their journey then turned south to Whiterun and Falkreath. It took almost a day to travel from Dawnstar to Whiterun, reaching the city just as the sun was setting. Much like Dawnstar, they both agreed that it would be better to rest before hunting the contract. The Bannered Mare, in Grey’s opinion, was the best inn in all of Skyrim. Plenty of rooms, a competent innkeeper and, as a new addition, a large tub with clean heated water. The idea of a hot bath sounded like heaven.

However, the inn was busier than normal, with many of the seats taken, the tavern girls rushing about to keep up with orders of drinks and food. Many of the patrons were already blissfully drunk, dancing about and singing loudly with poor Mikael, trying to sing above them.

Hulda waved them in, always welcoming the Thane of Whiterun with a smile and her best brew. Her husband, Daniel, was just as welcoming as he spotted her. Sure Grey had a home in Whiterun but it just didn’t feel like home for her, not yet anyway. She had given Breezehome to her Housecarl, Lydia, knowing she would love to be away from Dragonsreach.

“Greetings my Thane,” Daniel smiled, always polite. “What can I get you?” Before she could answer, another woman approached. She was in thieves guild armour but she wasn’t aware of another female thief in the guild. But the way she moved and held herself, she was definitely a sly one.

“Well hello there,” she purred, slinking up to Bishop like a cat in heat. “My name is Neeshka. Do you think I’m pretty?” Grey rolled her eyes. It was women like her that made her second guess why men drooled over tavern girls. Bishop, however, looked to be in pain as this Neeshka tried to woo him.

“I think you’re a pest,” Bishop replied, curt and uninterested when he turned to Daniel. “We need two rooms, bartender.” Daniel scoffed, indignant of Bishop’s rather rude request but turning to Grey, he saw the apology in her eyes and the heavy coin purse for his troubles.

“Well given we got a huge crowd coming through, what with the dragons attacking across the plains, I only got one room available,” now it made sense why so many were here. Many must’ve felt the city would be safer than their own homes. She had recognised some of the drunks as local farmers and hunters, drinking away their sorrows.

“I think I can help you, big man,” Neeshka purred again, coming closer to Bishop, no doubt ignoring the stink eye he was giving her. Grey turned to the woman, hand on her daggers when Bishop brushed her off, willing to handle the annoying wretch.

“Go away, flea,” his hissed again, managing to gain some space. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

“Bishop, it’s fine,” Grey stepped in, turning to Daniel. “The room you meantioned, is that the one upstairs with the double bed?” She ignored the surprised look on Bishop’s face, watching for Daniel to respond.

“Uh yes Thane, it’s the only one left. Otherwise there is a cot in the storage room Saadia had before she left.” Grey remembered the Redguard, a woman on the run for crimes back in Hammerfell. She was glad to be rid of her, not a care to having been a part of her capture and arrest.

“We’ll take it, with a reduced price for the inconcenience,” Grey placated Daniel, waving her hand to disregard what Bishop had proposed, him being too busy pushing Neeshka away to notice her disregard. “Only for the night, can the room be well secured?”

“For the Thane, of course!” Daniel replied. “Just had the locks changed because of a prior…incident.” No doubt a thief had tried to steal from them, Grey made a note to speak with Brynolf about that. The Bannered Mare was designated a No-go for thieves since she was made Jarl. The Drunken Huntsmen however was free game.

“That’s fine,” Bishop nodded, growling low when Neeshka managed to loop her arms around his neck. Grey gripped her daggers tighter while Bishop waved her off.

“Do you have a bath?” Bishop asked, his heated eyes turning to Grey a moment.

“Certainly do, fresh water heated and ready to go,” Daniel smiled. The heated bath was one of his better ideas for the tavern, really drew in the customers since they were the only inn in the hold to have one. Some even from Falkreath and Dawnstar travelled just to use it. Directing them through the crowd, Grey muttered her own growl as Neeshka trailed behind, not giving Bishop an inch.

“You don’t need her, big man~” her purr was beginning the already annoyed Nord, turning back again to see the relentless woman hug Bishop from behind. Something within her, billowing from her gut, broiled within her. Did she…care that this woman was trying to woo Bishop. What followed was a chill pang. What if Bishop fell for it? What if he lost interest?

“I already told you to get lost, flea. Maybe I should put you over my knee for being such a pest,” any other time Grey would’ve thought he was flirting with this words, but his tone only held a restrained rage tearing at the seams. If this girl wasn’t careful, Hulda would have blood to clean out of the wood floors.

“Would you? I like it rough~” that was it. Grey had had it. She hated doing this, but often times Rank made good on its benefits. Spinning on heel, Grey snatched the shorter woman by the collar of her leather armour. Many froze as she was lifted just off her feet.

“Look, you insufferable, poor excuse, waste of life,” Grey’s low voice whispered her thu’um, causing some plates and cups to wobble. Her breath visible with heat and her eyes slitted, making her appearance seem almost like a dragons. “Leave my companion be. Or I will have the guard throw you into a cell for the skeever to have.” She didn’t dare waste too much breath on the woman, dropping her before turning back to Daniel. She fought down her dragon’s blood, quelling the rising anger before it consumed her again.

Since Duneyrr’s murder and her encounters with Bishop, it was becoming harder and harder to reign in her newly discovered dragon heritage. Her blood ran hotter and her soul quivered relentlessly. Was this how dragons always felt? How they expressed themselves? It was disconcerting but there must be a way to control it, keep it in check.

Showing them the tub, the large basin was carved from stone so it could distribute the heat evenly, a large fire and a bellow underneath to keep the heat constant. Shielding screens were put up for some privacy, suiting Grey just fine.

“No one’s getting in here without making a lot of racket and waking everyone up. I think it’s safe,” Bishop descended the stairs next to the room, causing Grey to sigh. Why was he so paranoid about safety all of a sudden? They had Karnwyr for something like that. “You go first. I’ll wait outside,” as he turned to leave, Grey moved. Her hand grasped his arm, stopping him in an instant. Why had she done that? It was just a reaction, one that confused them both. But Bishop waited, intent on hearing her question.

“Why not…why not bathe together?” she asked, the statement alone shocked her. The words just spilled from her mouth. Not that she would have a problem bathing with another but Bishop…it just seemed different with him. Something she wanted to hide yet show at the same time. Her idea, it would seem, echoed with the Ranger. The same raging hunger and smouldering need erupted in his golden eyes, almost turning feral at the idea of bathing with her, but his leash whipped tight and he restrained any thoughts leading to lewd imagery.

“No, you go first. I’ll stand watch.” She didn’t fight it. He made his choice but how to feel about it left her in a bit of a daze. Did he reject her? Because of his own reservations and concerns for her? Or because he was battling his own conflicting feelings? Her thoughts tumbled and battled as she removed her armour. The thinned, strong daedric metal fell first, followed by the black scale leather beneath. Slipping out of pauldrons and gauntlets, easing out of sturdy leather boots to only have her bindings left. Slipping out of the small slips of cotton, she left herself bare to the slight chill of the room. She could feel eyes on her, daring not to glance back and lose the feeling.

Stepping into the stone tub, the ice in her bones melted away and allowed her to enjoy its warmth. A slight scent drifted in the steam, seems like Daniel added scented salts to the water, no need for soap or a cleansing sponge. She could sit and enjoy the water all night.

“Get out, flea!” Bishop snap caught her attention. The screens blocked her view but the familiar sultry chuckle of that damned Neeshka boiled her blood. Didn’t she know when to quit!

“Will you stop calling me flea? I’m a thief, not a flea.” Grey scoffed, that woman had the subtly of a troll in a village square. She would’ve marched out stark nude to put this annoyance down herself…if not for the sudden chill biting her skin. She might be a Nord, but stepping out of heated water in a cold room still racked the body in unbearable chills.

“Fleas attach themselves to a body, making use of it for food, protection and whatever until they move on to another body or are caught and pinched to death,” Bishop was barely keeping his own annoyance and anger towards the thief in check, this would turn interesting if it did. Ignoring the chill, quickly snatching a nearby wool towel to dry herself.

“Okay, I get it,” Neeshka whined, her tone not lose it sultry drawl. “But you are what I _desire_ in a man. And I would be a fool if I didn’t give it every effort.”

“Consider it given,” Bishop interrupted, annoying the woman further. Instead of replacing her armour, Grey changed into a pair of long baggy pants and a simple undershirt. Something comfortable to have a good rest in but one that could easily be removed in favour of armour. Her attention, however, was directed to Bishop and Neeshka. “Now get lost,” he commanded.

“I make a good belly-warmer,” now she was just being desperate, Grey rolling her eyes at the blatant admission.

“Not. Interested.” Straining each word, Grey caught the familiar clink of Bishop reaching for his dagger, this was only going one way, unless he restrained himself.

“What makes her so special?!” Neeshka suddenly asked, that took Grey off a ways. He thought of her as…special?

“She just is,” was his only reply, it stilled her heart and warmed her more than the bath did. He admitted…she was special to him? “Now get lost.”

“I’m better for you than her,” Neeshka dragged out, hearing movement meant she was trying to approach him.

“Get out of here now or die, your choice,” Bishop threatened.

“I just wanna be with you,” Neeshka purred.

“That’s impossible, now get out.” Bishop’s patience was waning, evidence in his voice told it all.

“I could be good for you~” A moment of silence broken with a sudden snap of movement. Now Grey stepped from behind the screen, shocked to find Bishop, blade drawn and held to Neeshka’s neck.

“I will slit your throat if you come back into this room,” his growl pulled on every word, meaning each that rolled from his tongue. Grey could see Hulda clammer to Daniel to call the guard while other patrons watched on. Uthgerd the Unbroken reached for her blade to intervene if necessary, this could all go wrong fast if Bishop didn’t stop. Catching himself, he removed his blade and allowed Neeshka to pull away.

“Fine! Just go then,” she muttered in defeat, her eyes catching Grey, flaring in anger as she stormed off. No doubt embarrassed and sore over a battle never fought.

“Bishop…” her voice caught his attention, turning his body to her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about, besides it’s not really any of your business,” he replied, all anger lost as his smug smirk returned. Brushing off it all with humour really got under her skin.

“Bishop, you’ll need to explain it to the guards coming any minute now, might as well speak it now,” she urged, hoping the threat of the law might loosen his tongue, but alas his smirk remained.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous,” the very thought of being ‘jealous’ about that…whore made Grey bristle.

“Oh go…dunk your head! I’ll just go pull you out of the guard’s sights like always,” she hissed, spotting the guards approach. Bishop’s eyes lingered again until he disappeared into the bath, Karnwyr close behind.

It took little effort to explain everything to the guards, even amusing when she had them through Neeshka out of the city. Returning to her paid room, she fell back onto the bed. She allowed her hair out as it splayed out across the firm pillows. The last fews days had torn her apart and forced her back, not once could she relax like this. Reflecting, the sting of Duneyrr’s murder had faded but still festered like an ugly wound. The thought of crossing another Forsworn made her think of ways to kill him. But what was done was done, and she had to move on or else drown in her own sorrow. Had it not been for Bishop that night she would’ve gone out to kill every Forsworn in the area.

Broken from her thoughts, weight shifted on her left and watched as Bishop lay beside her. Feeling his arm come around to rest underneath her neck, she slipped closer to rest her head on his shoulder. Not really a lover’s embrace but enough to share some warmth. Sleep consumed her mind, darkness slipping behind her closing eyes as she slipped into a dreaming world.

Her mind wandered over the years since she was pulled from the Well, four years since she was found by Astrid and took on life in Skyrim. The last few months were certainly more eventful and adventurous than the last four years. She recalled her time travelling the lands in order to discover her lost memories, exhausting every avenue she could think of to find out her identity.

There was a time she had turned to a dark means of seeking her answers; many whispered that the Daedric princes might have the answers she sort, and after a little comment Nocturnal – Lady Luck and the Mistress of Shadows – had spoken when she aided Brynolf and Karliah, she travelled across Skyrim finding the means to contact them.

Her dreams walked her through each encounter, reconnecting the mixed messages and side comments they made in the hopes something would jump out at her. Though, why she felt the sudden need to recall these memories she couldn’t say. Maybe after discovering so much of herself in recent months offered hope again.

She had made strides with aiding Azura and Meridia reclaim their artifacts; Azura’s Star and Dawnbreaker proof of her aid and reward. Both had called her their old champion, though they had many before her. How that worked she couldn’t say and neither would they explain. Whether it was desperation or a means to an end Grey had been drawn to the darker idols of the pantheon, meeting the likes of Boethiah, Molag Bal, Hircine, Malacath, Peyrite, Mephala, Vaermina and Clavicus Vile.

All of them toyed with her, despite seeming genuine. Boethiah commented on her strength of will but what she had asked of Grey when rewarding the Ebony Mail was too great; as cruel and merciless as she could be, she would never draw her blade upon the innocent.

Molag Bal was a frightening sort but she refused to bow, much to his amusement. He rewarded his Mace as a sign he favoured her though never gaining her loyalty; the tone he left her on was one that sent chills down her spine. That memory alone kept her visits to Markarth very brief and far between, avoiding the old home like a plague.

Hircine was happy to find her skills as a hunter most amusing though became disappointed when she aided three Shield-brothers within the Companions from his grasp; his ring and Saviors Hide were her trophies from his hunt. Siding might not have deserved such a death, but he too had debts to pay and she hated child-killers walking free.

Malacath was simply pleased she had aided his Orc followers and Peyrite was happy his little outbreak was contained, Volendrung and Spellbreaker were her spoils. Mephala was one of the simpler missions, simply releasing her Ebony Blade from the locked room in Dragonsreach, but the idea of betraying allies and friends to strengthen the blade once again swayed her away from ever using it.

Vaermina had left her with a difficult choice of whether to kill her former priest –who wanted to banish the staff – or allow him to do so. But after finding out he had lied to her of his purpose, betraying his own friends, he paid for his treachery. The Skull of Corruption, after discovering it plagued her dreams with nightmares, was always wrapped in an enchanted shroud so not to cause any undue harm.

Clavicus Vile had been a rather humorous mission, having to patch up the broken friendship between Daedra and familiar. In the end she was rewarded with the Masque of Clavicus Vile.

The sole thing they had in common besides using her to their own ends, was a strange familiarity they seemed to have with her. Walking adrift the many memories, she took note of each as she met her.

The moment Meridia saw Grey approach, she cursed her and thought she was undead. Upon closer inspection, the Lady of Light recanted her statement and greeted her politely. Azura was similar in the fact being alive surprised the Mistress of Twilight. Her next comment being she was happy to see her alive again after helping her once before, what the task was she wouldn’t say. Her parting commenting being that ‘Only through search will you find what is hidden in the darkness’.

The other daedra she had met were similar in their surprise but were otherwise disinterested in her questions. Some only gave hints like the Oblivion crisis or some city in Cyrodill – Kvatch or something like that. Mephala had been of more help overall. Being the Mistress of Secrets, she revealed that Grey had a strong connection with not only dragons and Akatosh himself, but of Mehrunes Dagon. Her tone turned to that of a worried mother, warning her that pursuing the darker prince could result in her death or driven to insanity. Something had happened between Grey and Dagon she decided not to speak of but warned her all the same. It was appreciated but left her asking.

Recalling all these encounters, she could now make sense of most of the connections. Something had happened in the past, something that rendered her deceased, an event that warranted giving Mehrunes Dagon a wide berth. Her connection with the dragon and Akatosh had been answered by the Greybeards, revealing her heritage as the last daughter of a dragon.

Despite collaborated and trying to make sense of all these instances, she was no closer to her true identity, not even her own name. Though she wanted to continue her thoughts, the waking world beckoned her back, stirred awake by the shifting form beside her.

Eyes breaking open to the bright light, Grey found herself snuggled closer into Bishop than they had before falling asleep. Bishop didn’t seem to mind, waking from his own dreams and watching Grey as she became aware of the world.

“Good Morning, Ladyship,” he smirked, finding the tussled mess of her hair endearing. Having the silvery locks out and defined around her face brought out the brilliance of her dual-coloured eyes. But any compliment meant towards her was left forgotten or ignored as she freed herself from the bed and moved to redress. Bishop took his time replacing his own armour, watching as Grey shed little restraint as she stripped from her loose clothes and back into her Daedric leather. He had seen her undress and redress before, but now seemed…different.

However his feelings, the pair gathered their supplies from Hulda and made for their next target. Anoraith was making it too easy for them; leaving the safety of the city to hunt. Ma'randru-jo made an interesting challenge, staying close to the caravan near the gates. The pair made for a creative kill, letting them both kill one another. Standing a ways away, the pair watched to ensure the pair killed one another. An arrow lodged in Ma’randru-jo while a dagger remained lodged in Anoraith’s chest.

The last contract was for some miller at Half Moon mill. Grey was warned one or both of the denizens here were vampires, meaning they would have to wait until night. It might’ve been a bit of a challenge preoccupying themselves until nightfall, but the forests of Falkreath did provide enough distractions. A trio of hunters had foolishly entered a bears den, leaving them to help the remaining hunter push through. Turns out an angered Spriggan made the den her home, leaving only her willowing corpse behind.

Finally, as the sun began to set, the pair moved to the mill. Just as she was told, Grey watched as the pair exited their home and went about normal chores done in the day. Keeping Bishop close to her, they had to be extra careful. Vampires had keen senses and might catch them unawares rather than the other way around. Moving around, flanking the mill, Bishop took the woman while Grey moved closer to Hern.

Bishop’s arrow flew, catching the woman’s leg and sounding her distress. The distraction allowed Grey to move in close and take out the Vampire before he could react. What she hadn’t counted on was the woman to leap like a wild animal, pinning Grey down. Fangs brandished, Grey struggled to keep the undead monster from snatching her neck, or any length of flesh. Sanguine Vampiris was a highly contagious disease when bitten by a vampire.

Getting her legs underneath herself, Grey managed to kick the woman off. Her off balance flailing landed her on Bishop’s waiting blade, plunging through her back and into her shrivelled heart. Collapsing dead, he moved to Grey’s side in an instant, checking every exposed inch in case the vampire bit her.

“I’m fine Bishop,” she assured, a little embarrassed by his sudden care. Regardless, the ranger forced her to drink down a potion to cure any chance of the disease taking hold. Biting back the bad taste of the potion, Grey got back to her feet with Bishop’s help.

With the contracts complete, she needed to get back to the Sanctuary.

* * *

Since she still couldn’t bring Bishop into the sanctuary, Grey sent him on into Falkreath with enough money for a room. She wouldn’t be long but since it was nighttime, they would meet up in the morning like before.

What was strange was how empty the Sanctuary was. Usually Astrid would be mulling over her map but she was nowhere to be found. Moving deeper, the telltale signs of voices and conversation lead her into the main chamber, where an interesting sight was taking place.

“But the Night Mother is mother to all!! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely...punishment?” The voice was familiar but not only that, but Night Mother? Hurrying in, she frove in surprise to found the same Jester she had helped what felt like an eternity ago dancing and cackling at her other family members. Babette seemed to like the Jester’s nonsense while Veezara was trying to hide his mirth. Gabriella smiled with Babette while Festus seemed pleased with the Jester’s annoyance toward Arnbjorn. Astrid seemed to deal but just under her steely mask there was concern and annoyance, leaving Nazir the only neutral party.

“Keep talking, little man, and we’ll see who gets ‘punished’,” Arnbjorn growled, his wolf blood bubbling to his hungry eyes.

“Oh, be quiet you lumbering Lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil,” Festus hissed as Grey approached, welcomed back by Gabriella and a happy Babette, the little vampire hugging her legs. “Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.” Grey was inclined to agree. Astrid ran their family differently to what any book on the subject would tell you...as well as a nagging feeling from what she assumed was her past. It just didn’t sit right.

“Oh! Oh what a kind and wise wizard you are!” Cicero giggled, endeared by Festus’ acknowledgement. “Sure to earn our lady’s favor!”

“ _Yes Indeed~_ ” Grey jumped, looking around the sanctuary. She knew that voice.

“Grey?” Babette had felt her jump, concerned with the only other she found a connection with. There was just something that drew her to Grey, so when she was worried or something bothered her the vampire child always picked up on it.

“You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper,” Astrid smiled, something about her tone though spoke to the contrary in Grey’s mind. A slight chill running up her spine agreed. “Understood...husband?” looking to her Werewolf lover, Arnbjorn just growled and grumbled before returning to the forge, muttering something about stupid clowns and feeling hungry. “But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?” she asked, showing the concern Grey picked up on before.

“ _Leader she may be, but you have returned My Listener, and have become wiser since your passing~_ ” Grey shivered again as something caressed her cheek, automatically making her touch the chilled area. “ _Now, speak aloud the words, show my children who you truly are...come to me, embrace me once again, my Beloved...Rowena~_ ”

“Oh yes Mistress. Perfectly! You’re the bo…” Cicero stopped mid-sentence when Grey gasped.

“Grey? When did...what’s wrong?” Astrid approached the shocked woman, pulling back her hood and cowl to see...tears. Grey’s white hair fell from her hood and revealed her crystalline blue-violet eyes brimming with tears.

“Grey?” Gabriella and Babette held her while Veezara and Nazir approached. Though still their newest member, they grew concerned when the former reserved Grey sprung a leak.

“She...she said…” Grey then took off, running from the stunned group up to the Sanctuary above. The others followed, unsure of what to make of her sudden madness until they found her, standing before the Night Mother’s coffin.

“ _Yes Rowena, that is your true name. My darling Listener, speak the words. You know them, reach deep down_ ~” Grey...no, Rowena could feel the Night Mother reach out, opening her own coffin to reach her crying child.

“Darkness rises...when Silence dies… Mother,” Rowena smiled, oblivious to Cicero’s hilarious cackle, excited and happy by her words.

“What’s she talking about? And to who?” Nazir wondered, his answer coming in the form of Cicero turning to them in jubilant laughter.

“Don’t you see?!! She said the words! The words only the Listener can speak!! Oh! Oh Happy day!! The Night Mother has finally broken her silence!! And has brought us her Listener!!” Cicero danced and cackled, all the while Rowena stared at the Night Mother. “And not just any!! But the kind, helpful woman from the road! Riding atop a white stag, oh happy day!!” Astrid didn’t know what to make of this, yet Babette and Gabriella were the first to move.

“Is...is she really talking to you?” Gabriella asked, looking between the two.

“Y-Yes. And...she knew my true name. Rowena,” her eyes had never expressed so much joy, it infected the girls as they all hugged the recovering Rowena. Even Festus and Veezara approached, hoping to find the miracle true for themselves, Cicero joining soon after to hug and squeeze Rowena joyfully. It caused many conversations and discussions on how to proceed next. How this will benefit them or if it was some hoax. None of them would think such a thing from Rowena but Astrid remained adamant they should go slow to ensure this sudden miracle was in fact the Night Mother and not someone trying to use magic to use them or some Daedric prince trick.

Finally left to rest, Rowena collected her thoughts. Hearing her real name had brought up some hazy memories, memories the girls of their family were more than happy to help her sift through. But after a small talk with Astrid, she allowed Rowena to pursue her other missions until she could make sense of this new discovery. She didn’t like the idea of going to the Reach and meet with Delphine but if it would help against the Dragons and help with her past she would. But to have her real name, not simply a word that sounded familiar.

Now she finally knew why Grey had sounded familiar. A memory flashed with a grey cowl with many oblivion symbols inscribed into the leather. The Cowl of the Grey Fox. Some memories she had recalled wearing the cursed object, pulling off heists and thefts only for the guards to chase a ghost. A small snicker followed some of the more amusing pursuits she acted.

“Rowena. What a lovely name, it certainly suits you better than Grey,” Babette smiled, leaning into Rowena’s motherly embrace, loving the warmth the mortal exuded.

“And one step closer to recovering my memories,” Rowena smiled, lying back on the soft bed.

“Did you see the way Astrid looked at you though?” Gabriella asked, her tone now more concerned. “I’m not sure she’s happy about this.”

“I think that’s more so because of Cicero, he can be rather annoying,” Babette replied, laying the Dunmer’s concern to rest. “But must you leave tomorrow?”

“As much as I don’t wish to, I need to. Regaining my name is one of many things I need to rediscover, and make sense of everything I’ve found so far,” Rowena explained, looking between the pair.

“Yes…and with a handsome man at your side~” Gabriella’s sudden drawl caught Rowena off, causing Babette to giggle.

“Oh you thought Veezara wouldn’t tell us about the company you were keeping?” Babette cooed. “And I’ve seen him too, so lucky.”

“Oh stop it you two!” Rowena hissed, but only received playful giggles and laughs. She should’ve known this might happen, but at least they don’t what him killed like Veezara had. Gabriella even seemed smitten with Bishop upon hearing his disposition toward theft, killing and anything that interested him. The night drew on until everyone fell asleep, Rowena lying back on her bed with Babette in her arms.

Rowena. Her name was Rowena.

That was something she had to get used to.


	7. Unending Seasons begin with a victory

Leaving the Sanctuary the next morning left her lighter than she had ever felt. Walking into Falkreath where Bishop had been waiting, her jubilance pushed her to leap into his confused and surprised arms, telling him what had occurred in the Sanctuary. Cicero, the Night Mother, speaking the words, her name, everything. Her excitement blinded her to Bishop’s stunned shock, he had never seen this side of her before. Composing himself, Bishop bought them both Ales to celebrate her new found old name.

“Rowena…it suits you,” Bishop added, pausing her gleeful ramblings, turning to the Ranger. It felt strange hearing the name despite the familiar memories it brought out. But even with her revelation, what was she to do with Grey? Grey felt more familiar to her than Rowena, despite the memories the name unlocked. Mulling this issue left her concern and reflective while nursing her ale.  “Everything alright?”

“Just…I guess it’s only settling now but…I’ve always been known as Grey,” she admitted, looking to Bishop. “Yet, I’m Rowena as well, can I really just give up that name now…after so long?”

But before they could move, a courier came running into the Inn. Huffing, the courier caught his breath before spotting Rowena. Once his breath was under control and he finished wrestling with his pack, he handed over a small note.

_Dragonborn_

_Thank you again for investigating the Thalmor and saving Malborn’s life._

_It is a godsend to find Esbern is alive and well. As you haven’t returned, you must be preoccupied elsewhere. I wish to inform you that I have found Esbern and got him out of the Ratway before the Thalmor could catch us. We’re investigating an Akaviri temple here in Skyrim._

_Skyhaven Temple in the Reach._

_I’ve enclosed its location with this message so you may meet us here. Esbern believes it will hold the answers to dealing with the dragon threat once and for all._

_Signed,  
Delphine_

“I truly wish to slit that woman’s throat,” Bishop hissed.

“Not before I do,” Grey hissed, but she had to relent. “Come on, any excuse to putting off that trip is welcome, but I’ll have to see them at some stage.”

“Why?” he questioned, following up to her. “You risk your life for them every day, do everything they ask and never once think of your own wellbeing. Why? What’s the point?”

“Don’t think I’m just doing this for them,” Grey paused, looking back to him. “I’m doing all of this for myself, that maybe using their resources I can find what…I’m missing.”

“As far as I care, you have everything you could ever need,” Bishop smirked.

“That may be; I might have my true name now but, at best, my memories are still shrouded in fog and my strange heritage, after all of my travels, learnings and discoveries, I am no closer to understanding any of it,” Grey groaned. She shook in annoyance. Not at Bishop but her own ineptitude to find her answers, to find anything to clear her mind and return her to normal.

“You’ve made a life for yourself, you could and can have anything and everything you could ever want,” holding her hand, she turned to look at his…sincere gaze? Had he ever looked like that? “And…you’ve got me. What more could you ask for?” There was the smugness she had grown to appreciate. Shaking her head, a small chuckle passing her smiling lips, she moved on out of the inn.

“Oh yes, how ever did I get so lucky.”

* * *

Much like she had promised, anything to halt her trip to the temple was a godsend.

Taking on a few more contracts from Astrid – anything to appease the challenged woman from their resent development – taking them from Falkreath back to Whiterun hold, The Pale and Solitude. The Housecarl of Jarl Siddgeir was an interesting test, made easy from his over indulgence for alcohol. A little slip of poison into a gifted bottle left the Housecarl to die in his room, and all suspicion turned off of her as no one knew she had placed the bottle in his room thanks to an invisibility spell.

Next to Whiterun, another interesting contract involving a Fort full of Bandits, an ill bandit leader and a frail old woman. Being the target, it took little effort to end the life of old Agnis though getting into the Fort was a challenge. Taking two paths, Bishop slipped through the front of the fort to clear an escape while Rowena took to the flooded dungeons to flank their target. It took a turn for the poetic when Rowena improvised a weapon, taking the leader’s blade to impale through the old woman in her sleep. Quick and painless.

With no bandits to deal with, and some spare beds to use for the night, come dawn saw their travels into the Pale. A dwarven ruin lay their next location. The mage was a challenge, surrounding himself with bandits in the ruins of Mzinchaleft. Using the ruins traps against them, the bandits walked into their graves while a tripped mechanism hunted and killed Maluril. Since they were already half way through the ruin by the time the mage was killed, the pair continued onward through Falmer camps, spider nests to the final confrontation with a Dwemer Centurion, the elevator allowed them to return to the surface.

“Well look at this,” Bishop cooed, picking up a stained Glass blade from a pool by the elevator. “And with a strong enchantment, it’ll fetch a pretty penny.”

“We’ll fence it in Riften later,” Rowena waved off, moving to the elevator. “The sooner we get out of this ruin the better.”

“You were the one who wanted to explore,” Bishop snickered, stepping onto the platform with her.

“Shut up.”

* * *

It took them three days to get to Solitude and even when they arrived they had to wait another four for Safia’s ship, the Red Wave, to dock in Solitude.

The atmosphere around the capital was sombre and tense, imperial soldiers marching the streets with the hold guards, Imperials holding their heads high while Nords moved about like nothing with wrong with the world.

Passing by the market, buying some supplies, Rowena couldn’t help but notice something was wrong with Bishop. A deep scowl scrawled over his face. Confused, Rowena followed his glare to a tall stranger, wrapped in sterling silver armour with a steel sword strapped to his hip. Why would this stranger bring out such a seething growl from Bishop…besides other men who come too close.

“Greetings my lady,” the sudden drawl caught her ear, turning her attention from the fish monger to the same knight in silver Bishop had been glaring at before. “Please forgive me for intruding but I believe you are whom I am seeking.” Strange, no one had ever approached her like this before, and why would he apologise?

“And whom are you looking for, exactly?” she asked, collecting her supplies and paying the monger.

“Are you, by any chance, the Dragonborn?” he asked, stepping a tad closer. Fearing what Bishop might do, she turned to the Ranger only to find him distracted by weapons at a nearby blacksmithy.

“I am. Why were you looking for me?” she asked, placing herself before Bishop in case he tried something.

“My lady, my name is Casavir. I have been searching for the Dragonborn for some time now, in hopes of aiding you on your journey to keep the dragons at bay,” the knight, now Casavir, bent at the waist in a steep bow, like any knight to a noblemen. “I would like to offer my assistance.” Offering his armoured hand, Rowena felt at a loss. This knight must’ve been misinformed. Sure she had killed plenty of dragons of her journey; most where the loyal dovah sworn to Alduin. Viinturuth near Anga’s Hill, Vuljotnaak near Broken Fang Cave, Nahagliiv near Rorikstead along with many others scattered out. Most times they would avoid them, leave them be. But many would spot her and either test themselves or try to kill her. Challenges met left them as equals while attacks were met with swift deaths.

“Well, well,” Bishop’s voice turned her from her thoughts, stalking up to her side while staring at Casavir. “If it isn’t everybody’s favourite white knight. I didn’t expect to see you in Solitude, but the irony suits you.”

“I merely wish to assist her, much as I imagine you are doing now, Bishop,” Casavir hummed. The knight seemed to be restraining himself, from what Rowena couldn’t fathom why but the restraint was evident enough. He knew Bishop and did not like him one bit.

“She doesn’t need you,” Bishop’s tone turned into a deep hiss, glaring at the paladin. “Go help someone who wants your holy righteousness, it’s not wanted here.”

“At least with me her moral aptitude wouldn’t plummet to the flaming depths of Oblivion,” Casavir growled back, turning to face the ranger. “Which, I’m sure, with you along, it has been sorely tempted to do.” Was this really happening now? This stranger and her companion debating and commenting on her ‘moral aptitude’ and whether she needed more assistance. She could easily defeat Alduin and any dragon single handed if she so wished, but Bishop provided great company, as well as something she felt a need to keep by. She was still confused and new to these emotions but she knew enough that she wanted to keep it.

“You think too highly of yourself, Paladin,” Bishop growled, his hand slipping around her waist. The act was anything new to Rowena, Bishop had done the same action many times before where he could, but seeing his leather-clad hand slip around her turned Casavir to draw his blade. “With you she’d get so bored she’d sprint and dive headfirst into those flames as quickly as possible; anything to make her feel alive again.”

“I can speak for myself,” Rowena quipped, removing herself from Bishop. “If you boys are quite done, I’d like to leave this city. I have more…pressing matters in the Reach.” Turning from the pair, she glanced back to Casavir. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I must decline. I’d rather not have the blood of another on my hands when facing a dragon.”

She didn’t let Casavir finish, leaving out the main gate with Karnwyr at her heels. Bishop, watching her retreating form, shot a smug smirk at the paladin before picking up her pace. Both left the city, and a confused paladin, into the night.

Making it into the Reach and towards the location on the map, Rowena’s blood boiled at the site of a Forsworn camp. But as they slipped into the camp, they came to find most of the Forsworn here were dead. Good being Rowena’s only thought.

“Damn, we missed a good fight,” Bishop hummed, kicking a Briarheart into the river. Suddenly, a roar echoed over the wind. Blades drawn, a dragon swooped overhead. Aware and cautious, the pair watched as the dragon took to the wing and braced himself them.

“ ** _Drem Yol Lok, Dovah Briinah_** (Greetings Dragon sister)” the dragon boomed, his wing beat picked up the wind and tussled her silver hair about.

“ ** _Drem Yol Lok, Dovah Zeymah. Druv dreh hi ni iidah zey? Zuú los hokoron do hin in_** (Greeting Dragon brother. Why do you not attack me? I am the enemy of your master)” Rowena asked, watching the dragon as he hovered. She glanced to Bishop, seeing he had a quick hand ready on his bow.

“ ** _Pah Alduin, dii rax wah ok ruus. Nid lingrahiik fent Zu'u kos sken wah mok. Zu'u los stin dovah, nuz Zu'u mindrus suleyk do hin zul._** (Pah Alduin, my teeth to his neck. No longer shall I be shackled to him. I am a free dragon, but I recognise the power of your voice.) The dragon nodded, then in a strong beat he took to the wind again, disappearing over the mountainside. “ ** _Kosiir briinah! qahnaarin nis kos ov!_** (Beware Sister! The Vanquishers cannot be trusted!) His voice shook the earth, cementing his warning and affirming her own concerns; she couldn’t trust the Blades.

But with them being her only lead, she travelled to the summit where, within, an ancient temple had been carved into the mountain. Ascending the stairs to a large chamber, they found an awaiting Delphine with an old man examining a large carved wall. It must’ve been Esbern.

“Oh Dragonborn, good you came,” Delphine was instantly at her side, ignoring Bishop and pulling her to the wall. “Esbern, here she is.” The moment the man turned to her, his face paled.

“It can’t be…” shooting the distance between them, the old man left no care for Rowena as he inspected her skin, examined her hair and eyes, he even found interest in her nails. “Not one of the Septim line…but that of the Silverbrows. Amazing, one of the line has survived the centuries.”

“As I have been told,” Rowena growled, slapping his hand away. “And now that you’ve forced my hand into helping you again, Delphine, what do you need of me now?” The Breton woman glared, not impressed nor liking her tone or attitude.

“We’ve discovered there is a shout that can ground a dragon,” turning to the wall, she missed Rowena freezing. Grounding a dragon? Was something so possible? Rowena approached the wall and listened to Esbern explain the wall, what the images meant and where the proof of the thu’um existed. The only way he could think of finding the shout was going to the Greybeards.

Rowena didn’t question nor comment of his theory, just using it as a reason to leave.

“We’re heading to High Hrothgar,” she stated, powering past Bishop and out of the desolit camp before he stopped her.

“Why are you listening to them?” Bishop questioned, holding her in place.

“Because, I need to stop Alduin,” she replied, but her tone held nothing. No fire, no bite, not even restraint or anger.

“Ladyship, listen…” his words dragged, something the ranger never did. His hesitation pulled her eyes to his, waiting for his next words. “If you fall to this dragon, I can’t defend you from his army!” he snapped, his grip tightening. “Though I hate to admit it, but even that wouldn’t stop me from trying.” His tone shifted, growing softer again like it had once before.

“Bishop…was that…affection?” normally would be tease him for such an admission, but right now she was more so surprised. Sure he had teased as well, flirted perhaps, but never with such a promise behind it.

“You silly girl,” now trapped in his arms, he crashed their bodies together. Rowena rushed bright as she felt him so close to her. Before it had been to calm her, to console her. Now, she felt like he was the spider, and she was the butterfly in his web. “You have no idea how I feel and…I’d rather keep it that way.” Again, Bishop pushed her away though he was the one the initiate the contact. “The less you know the better.” He whispered his words but Rowena still caught them, watching as they added to the enigma that was this Ranger. Keeping them in mind, trying to solve his puzzle of a being, the pair made their way back to Whiterun hold and to Ivarstead.

Bishop decided to stay in the small village, not truly wanting to scale a mountain after the last they had to climb, leaving Rowena to once again scale the throat of the world. Upon entering the temple, the Greybeards welcomed her. She spoke to them of her travels, of the words she discovered and the secrets she found. But to her own dismay…she relented her intentions.

The Greybeards had shared her feelings of restraint and disinterest in the Thu’um but the rumbling roar from the mountains summit had called her to it. Taught the ‘Clear Skies’ shout, she started her journey to the summit. Her mind was reeling over all that had happened and what more she had to do. Surrounding her was nothing but death, war, and strife with the promise of Armageddon on the Horizon. These stresses she no doubt could manage but...what stressed her the most was if any of this were to end her, she would die never knowing her true name.

“ ** _Drem Yol Lok_ _Wunduniik_** (Greetings Traveler), I am Paarthurnax,” the greeting was unexpected, as the ground shook beneath her, Rowena was surprised to find a dragon before her. He was older than any Legendary or Ancient dragon, his wings and scales were aged, torn and frayed, lacking the same lustre younger dragons possessed. Appearance aside, his voice gave way to his age; wise and knowledge oozing his words. “Who are you? What brings you to my **_strunmah_** (Mountain)?”

“ ** _Krosis_** Elder. I have come from the Greybeards, seeking counsel from their leader,” she bowed low, offering the aged sage the proper respect.

“Such manners from one so young, but there are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of the **_Dov_** ,” the aged dragon moved slightly to position, standing fully before Rowena. “By long Tradition, the Elder speaks first. Hear my thu’um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are **_Dovahkiin_**!” rearing his head back, Rowena braced. She was still mortal but she had done this many times before. “ ** _YOL TOOR SHUL!!”_** The torrent of flames would’ve burned her to her bones, leaving nothing but ashe, but something she had not expected was to find herself untouched. Paarthurnax didn’t seem phased by the act, after all this was a greeting, not a battle. “Now, show me what you can do! Greet me not as mortal, but as **_Dovah_**.”

“ ** _YOL TOOR SHUL!!_** ” Flames erupted from her throat, shooting out and blanketing the dragon in its embrace. No harm seemed to scorch his scales, in fact his maw reared in a bellowing laughter, his wings picked up the wind and blowing her hood off.

“Never have I encountered a mortal with such **_Zii_**! **_Sossedov los mul!_** The Dragonsblood runs strong in you!” The dragon looked back and froze at the sight of her white hair. The winds beating the mountain top seemed to still at this instance too, allowing his snout to inhale the alluring scent. “Ah~ It has been so long since I have met one of Sotzinvahlok’s blood.”

“You would not be the first,” Rowena murmured, moving to sit on a nearby rock, pulling her cloak further around herself. “It is one of the many reasons Alduin is out for my blood.”

“And not the fact you have swayed many of his followers from his clutches?” Rowena didn’t seem surprised by his remark, pulling another chuckle from the Elder. “Many of the **_Dov_** here have shouted your name, a sign they have been bested and show their allegiance to the strongest Thu’um.”

“But why? I have killed many more than I have bested, why would any follow a mortal like me?” she asked, confused as she was curious.

“Because **_Mal Dovah_** (Little Dragon), your father was a dragon of honour and humility. Something most of us lack and yet it was contagious. Had Alduin not slain his **_Zeymah_** (Brother) the bond between mortal and **_Dov_** would be very different.” The elder took flight, his heavy wings lifting his bulk high and guided him to the damaged word wall in his domain. Taking roost, he turned back to Grey, ready to speak. “Now tell me, **_Mon do Sotzinvahlok_** (Daughter of Sotzinvahlok) what counsel do you seek from me?” Grey hesitated, she truly didn’t want to ask about the shout but if it will become the chink in Alduin’s armor...she must ask.

“I seek the Dragonrend shout. I know this is a dark and poisonous shout but if it will defeat Alduin, it is a path I must take,” she spoke honest and hoped that the dragon would understand. Looking up, he too seemed to ponder her quarry.

“A path you _must_ take? Why? What reason do you have to a world coming to its end?” his question was unexpected, certainly he knew the answer already.

“Because...I don’t wish to die again, not knowing who I truly am…” Paarthurnax watched as she stood, pacing by him. “I have recovered my name, and some memories are clearer but I still have no clear memory of my past, of before that Mage pulled by soul from death. I don’t wish to die without those memories. And to that, I don’t wish to lose the new memories I have made nor the people I made them with. This world is too vast and full of wonders and opportunities to allow to die off so soon.”

“ ** _Pruzah_** (Good). A good reason as any. None should pass into the beyond with unfinished business. Many would agree, although not all,” turning back to the aged dragon, Paarthurnax looked over the edge of the peak, down to the world below. “Some would say that all things must come to an end, regardless of what is unfinished. So that the next can come to pass.” His words were true, and she would agree - especially regarding this futile Civil war. It astounded her that so many could not see how it was the Thalmor that dictated all actions in the shadows, instilling more strife between the Empire and its allies. “Perhaps this world is simple the Egg of the next **_kalpa_**? **_Lein vokiin?_** Would you stop the next world from being born?” Grey pondered his question, brought back from the sully that was the war. And his words did have truth in them. But her mind was set.

“I wouldn’t be stopping the next world’s coming, simply postponing our own end. Besides an end in such a poor and unworthy manner of a beast preying on the helpless for his own gluttony and not for divine duty. It is an end no one should endure,” looking to the dragon, she could see his understanding. “All are so concerned with what the next world will be or what will happen when it comes. It’s time, I think, we put faith in this one first.”

“ ** _Paaz_** , a fair answer,” he smiled, or what Grey assumed was smiling. “ ** _Ro Fus_** (Balance Force)...maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time’s end. **_Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis_** (Vortex of time is treacherous).” Nodding, understanding his words, the aged sage went on to explain that she needed to learn such a shout by peering into the past, and even explained how Alduin had come to return. A time wound, a rip in the very fabric of time was found on the Throat of the World, but she would need the tool that opened it - An Elder Scroll. Paarthurnax had no knowledge of where to find such an artifact so that was left to Grey to find out.

Upon leaving the summit and bidding the concern Greybeards a reassuring farewell, Rowena started her mission. Returning to Ivarstead, meeting Bishop at the Inn, she regaled her tale of Paathurnax, their conversation and what she needed to do.

“More dungeon delving, are you trying to get us both killed?” he mused, nursing a mug of mead, though cringed at the vile taste.

“Think of it this way, something valuable could be hidden there~” she tickled his greed, now she hoped it was enough. He seemed to contemplate her idea, and the prospect of riches did sweeten the deal.

“Very well, but I expect more than gold as payment for this,” his eyes clouded, hooded and darkened into a smolder. Rowena had an idea of what he meant by it.

“We’ll see, if you’re a good boy.” With her own smirk, she moved out of the inn. Growling like a wolf in heat, Bishop followed close after.

* * *

It was a long journey back to Winterhold, the challenge of the quest turned to getting into the college. She didn’t want to have to go through becoming an apprentice just to access the library, there had to be another way.

“What is such a rose doing out here in the cold, my dear?” asked a voice. Passing by the inn, Rowena noticed a well-dressed mage, his quaff of golden locks styled back while his robes looked more expensive than Blackbriar mead. His tone, however, reminded her of a spoilt noblemen, and she had tangled with many before. “I am Darren, let me invite you into the Frozen Hearth; we can warm ourselves by the fire~” his purr did little to curb her need to shout at him, and not in a mortal manner. However, the fact he was a mage did bring an opportunity.

“Don’t mind if we do!” Bishop suddenly appeared beside her, arms wrapped around her neck. “I could use a stiff drink, not to meantion a hot bath. You’ll get it ready for us, won’t you?” Just what was he doing?! She would’ve slapped him for ruining her found opportunity to get into the college when the mage huffed instead of leaving.

“Who is this flea-bitten ranger that follows you, my dear?” Darren asks, practically spitting at Bishop. “To keep such dreadful company, sweet rose, is revulsive,” Rowena fought back the urge to attack, once again seeing Bishop take her place.

“Ah but she likes me around, little mage. Wanna know why?” the sly tone in his question made Rowena bristle, not just from annoyance of his implied meaning, but the idea of the act actually occurring. “Because I can keep her warm at night.” If her face was not red before, the stark contract of the snow and her hair would’ve made her red face appear like a tomato had replaced it. “Now, be the good little worthless man you are and go fetch papa a drink.”

“I am not speaking to you – you uncivilized ruffian! I am speaking to the lady!” Darren snapped, his own face turning red in anger.

“Ah but I am speaking to you, mageling. If you don’t want to be the target of my next weapon’s practise, then get lost.” Bishop’s warning pushed back the embarrassment and annoyance Rowena once had, taking his arm.

“Please, forgive my companion,” she smiled, faking any sense she was annoyed or angered by all of this. “We’ve travelled far and he gets…cranky quite easily. A warm fire and strong drink do sound wonderful.” Bishop stared at her, his own surprise and shock evident but Rowena had to ignore it for now, needing to keep up her charade in order to net the mage.

“Ah you see ruffian, the lady knows how to be civilized, perhaps you might learn a thing or two,” Darren quipped, turning his attention back to Rowena. “Sweet rose, please follow me. I have a table waiting for us.”

“Oh, you go on ahead. I just need to…discuss something with my companion,” with a coy and heart-warming smile, Rowena managed to send the mage in, giving her a chance to talk with Bishop. “Now before you go off the cliff, no I have no interest in him, he could be our way into the college.”

“He’s just a mage, he doesn’t know anything,” Bishop retorted.

“Exactly, but he can get us into the college, that’s all we need from him,” she shuddered at the next thought. “And if I need to…play nice to get entrance, so be it.” Turning to the inn, she thought of something just to get under his skin. “Maybe you should have that bath. You’re beginning to smell a bit.”

“Fine! I’ll take my bath,” Bishop growled, still not happy with the situation. “But I’m gonna have to fix his nose because you don’t exactly smell like a rose yourself!” his shout was drowned out by the closing door. Rowena sighed, preparing herself for perhaps the most boring conversation she will ever have.

And much like she expected, Darren had tried to woo her with wine while going on and on about how an aspiring mage he is, how he was kicked out of Solitude by Casavir and on about his studies. Honestly why she had not killed him was a miracle, for him at least.

“So…tell me Darren, you go to the College here, right?” she asked, piling as much sugar as she could into her words.

“I do indeed my dear, and with my research they should name me a professor soon,” Darren warbled. “Oh what am I saying, the success of my work will ensure my path to the Archmage seat!” Again, Rowena had to bite her tongue.

“Perhaps…if you may…I would love to see it,” now she had him, just a little more buttering up and she would have gained access to the college.

“I would be honoured to show you…but,” her breath hitched. She was so close. “It’s not my place to criticize, sweet rose,” Rowena’s eye twitched again at the sound of that horrid neckname. “But are you sure that you are safe with that Barbarian that follows you?” He was worried about Bishop? Hurting her? She had little restraint at this point but managed to catch her gut-wrench cackle. “He seems more like a wild animal than a man to me.”

“You just don’t know him well enough,” Rowena smiled, hoping to end this line of conversation and more on to more important matters.

“Nor do I wish to,” his tone was turning back to her last request, but as the fates would have it a keen and annoyed ranger took now as his chance to show up the mage.

“Good thinking, mage,” Bishop smirked, approaching the table.

“I thought you were outside, enjoying the conditions I’m sure you feel quite at home in,” Darren hissed, standing from his chair. So much for subtlty, Rowena groaned as the two men stared down. At least Karnwyr seemed more interested in her, his head coming to lie on her lap and yipping as she scratched his ears.

“Even a wolf enjoys a warm fire now and then,” Bishop replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Just as I said, an animal!” Darren snapped, throwing his arms up. “Why don’t you come with me, lovely rose, and leave this ‘wolf’ to scorch his hide next to the flames.” Darren offered his hand, pulling the last shred of her patience for him. Rowena would’ve slapped his hand away had Bishop not taken the space between them.

“You really think she needs anything from you, little mage?” rhetorical by his tone, the low growl behind them seemed lost on the mage, but not the patrons around them. Many slinked away or backed away to avoid getting involved.

“Don’t tempt me, ranger,” Darren spat, moving around Bishop. “I’ll make you regret interrupting my evening.” Rowena couldn’t help but groan heavily. She watched as Darren goated Bishop to fight him, unarmed, his fists levelled with his face while many seasoned fighters could spot every opening he was giving Bishop. The ranger didn’t even need to try as he dodged a weak jab and slammed his own fist into Darren’s face. A sick crack sounded, Darren’s nose broken in his hands, while he fell to the ground in a heap.

Walking by, Darren looked up to her in the hopes of finding sympathy.

“You were right Bishop, I’m sad to say,” she turned to Bishop, groaning as he smirk grew wider. “I’m afraid you are not worth the effort Darren.”

“W-what? Sweet rose I…” Darren met another swift punch, another howl of pain and blood gushed from him as he watched Rowena pull back her fist.

“I only wanted to get into the college, not listen to you prattle. Though perhaps you still can,” leaning down, she offered the ultimatum. “For our silence, take us to the college library, or every mage in Tamriel will learn of your humiliation and then some.” Darren sat in a daze, processing what she had revealed. Tied and left no choice, the whimpering limping mage showed them the way.

* * *

Though the idea of ice hopping to find her mage wasn’t what they expected, Rowena did managed to find a boat and rowed out to the small patch of ice. Bishop opted to remain outside, having enough of mages for one day.

Finding a small door, she descended down the icy slope to find a pacing Mage, muttering and whispering it all to himself. Before him was a large cube, almost Dwemer looking. What was it? And why was this mage so fascinated by it?

“When the top level was built, no more could be placed. It was and is the maximal apex…” he mumbled, coming to notice Rowena approach.

“Septimus Signus?” she asked, watching the man stare. “I’ve heard you know about Elder Scrolls…”

“Elder Scrolls. Indeed,” he beamed, moving to his small shelf of books and discarded bottles. “The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw.” Books flew and scattered about, leaving Rowena less than hopeful with delusional man could help. “I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I...I have arisen beyond its grasp.”

“So...where is it?” she asked, not wanting to further his rantings, trying to keep him on the right path.

“Here.” Motioning to the room around them, Rowena held her breath. Here? The Elder scroll was here all along? “Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it’s all nearby,”he cackled. Now she had the overwhelming urge to stab him repeatedly, but stayed her blade in the hopes he would soon make sense.

“Can you help me get the Elder Scroll or not?” she hissed, watching him turn again to the large cube before them.

“One block lifts the other. Septimus will give what you want, but you must bring him something in return,” that was an interesting turn. What could this mad man possibly want. Nodding, Septimus turned to the Cube once more, marvelling it as he had before. “You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls.” Now that caught Rowena’s attention. Read an Elder scroll? “In the depths of Blackreath one yet lies.” He turned to Rowena, seemingly amused by her confused and curious expression. “Have you heard of Blackreach? ‘Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.’” His amusement pulled soft chuckles from his fractured mind, weighing thin her patience.

“And just where is this ‘Blackreach’? and why doesn’t anyone else know about it?” she asked, finding no clear answer while he moved back to his rotting and ice covered books.

“Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark.” Mzark. Now that was familiar. But she never recalled passing anywhere resembling this ‘Blackreach’ he mentioned. She recalled finding an abandoned camp near a sealed Dwemer elevator in the mountain ranges south of Dawnstar. She thought nothing of it then but it seemed like it could be her way in. Running through Dwemer ruins was fun and all but she wanted this farce over with as soon as possible. Time was running out for Skyrim if Alduin had his way. “Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter here. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock.” Turning to his table, Septimus handed over a small orb inscribed with Dwemer runes and a small cube with similar markings. “Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and sutle, and needed to open their cleverest gates.” This was sounding like Arkngthamz again, with the strange tuning device to gain entry to the exit. Holding the orb, she wondered how such a small thing could help. “The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But...empty.”

“I’m guessing this has something to do with reading the Elder Scroll without losing my sight?” Rowena asked, holding up the cube.

“Yes, yes. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the scroll and lay the lore upon the cube.” Aged hands touched the cube and her hand, causing Rowena to flinch, looking to the old scholar. “Trust Septimus. He knows you can know.”

“Alright...but where will the sphere go when I get through Alftand?” she asked, watching his face blank and stare back at the large cube.

“Behind wrought gates, a pedestal find. Upon its groves cradles the tune. Place it there, and Blackreach you shall find.” He wasn’t making very much sense...but he might’ve just answered a question she had been thinking about since Raldbthar and Mzinchaleft. Having visited both ruins, both of them had a strange mechanism where a spherical object could be placed, but she never had the key.

“Septimus. Are there...other ways of getting to Blackreach?” the scholar paused, thinking about her question.

“Perhaps. Where you find the, the music cradle, Blackreach is found beneath.” That’s all she needed to know. She won’t need to clamber some unexplored, Falmer infested ruin, not when she had already gained the means of getting to Blackreach through another already explored ruin. Leaving the madman to his ranting, Rowena met up with Bishop again and travelled back to the mainland; retracing her steps back to Raldbthar once again. But instead of going through the main entrance as she did with Alain, Rowena found the elevator access she had taken to leave the ruin. Making their way back down with the elevator, the pair found the old hallway where Rowena once held an Aetherium shard, but instead of going down that hall, she spotted what they was looking for.

Weaving her magic to make light work of the gate lock, allowing them access to the strange. Finding the small slot, Rowena placed the sphere within. In amazement, her theory was proven true. The sphere caused the rings before it to spin and realign, moving the ground into place, building a flight of stairs. Happy with the result, Rowena descended.

“Hold on there,” Bishop snapped, grabbing her hand. “I’ll…scout ahead.” Sighing, Rowena relented and allowed the ranger to move ahead.

The sight before them was one they could have never dreamed of. It was like they had stepped into a completely different world. The underground city was overrun with large glowing mushrooms and nirnroots, from where she stood, she could hear something with a slight off tune similar to Nirnroot. Upon investigation, and feeling the need to explore that new world before finding the tower, to her surprise Rowena found a red Nirnroot. No...crimson. Something was telling her that Crimson Nirnroot was the correct name. Picking the strange plant, she kept her eyes and ears out for more. They might be valuable.

There were many winding paths, each taking her to a different part of the underground world. She was surprised to find a giant making its home here but Bishop wasn’t surprised to find small pockets of Frostback spiders and Falmer with their Chaurus pets. But Rowena’s assumption regarding the Crimson roots was correct, and she collected a fair bit, but her search led to a small home, the only one intact. Searching the small dwelling, she found traces of battle, the Falmer no doubt from the number of weapons strewn about. She found a corpse and holding a small diary, taking it for record as well as another Crimson Nirnroot growing unattended. Opening the small journal, she read an oddly familiar name - ‘Sinderion’.

The name called a fuzzy memory; of a mature High Elf, his smile and enthusiasm of his research then...nothing. Looking to the skeleton, she felt sad realising it was the author. Sighing, she gathered up the bones and placed them on the bed. A little sentimental she thought but everyone deserved a little respect in death.

“Ladyship, is everything alright?” Bishop had noticed that mourning look, reaching out to her only to watch her turn away from the home.”

“We better find that Tower now.”

It was nice to wander and not have the world’s fate to think about. Passing the large central city, avoiding notice from the Falmer residing there, and finally reaching the tower. The elevator carried her to the Sky-dome, where she found an abandoned camp. So someone else had tried to come here too. But there was only one corpse, no doubt the others littered Blackreach. What drew her attention was a small journal by the only corpse, gathering the book while ascending to the top level, she gasped in sight of the masterful yet complex device before. The Dwemer, being ever the enigma, had constructed some kind of device hiding the Scroll. Ascending again to a control station, Rowena could see the Lexicon fitted into a small pedestal. Placing it in place, she gasped as the machine accepted it and activated.

The journal was helpful with calibrating the strange device. Watching as the lights danced across the ceiling from an unknown, no doubt mystical, source and moving them to hit the right targets. Slowly and with some help from Bishop, Rowena had managed to lower the main container, producing the scroll to her.

Cautious, aware of how dangerous it was, she managed to fit the scroll into her pack - no point welcoming unwanted attention - and reclaimed the now ruined lexicon. Hopefully she did everything correctly and that Septimus can make sense of it, or else Bishop might pop a vein from anger. Exiting the tower brought them to another Dwemer elevator out among the wilds. Another camp welcomed them back to Skyrim but the horizon whispered the ever closing end.

Shaking her thoughts, both herself and Bishop decided it best against returning to Septimus now. The Elder Scroll took priority over anything now. As they travelled back, Rowena mused over what had happened just within this year. She had wandered for four years, knowing herself as Grey - the only link to her past - she was a member of the Dark brotherhood, where her own Night Mother returned her name; her life was going smooth...smooth enough with her lack of memory. Then, Bishop showed up and turned everything asque. She wasn’t sure if it was love, lust, adventure or greed that drove the dark ranger to travel with her, but many night she was left wondering and longing for the stubborn fool.

And now, she was coming closer and closer to realising her lineage. She was Rowena. The Daughter of Akatosh’s second born. Wielder of the Thu’um, loved and welcomed by her holds, revered and respected by her fellow **_dovah_**. And yet...it all seemed much. As Grey she was just responsible for herself, her guild and answered to no other. Now, now she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and she had yet to discover all about her past.

With the mighty fortress in sight, and Bishop safe back in Ivarstead again, she knew this line of thought had to pause. She had a difficult task to complete; using the Elder Scroll without going blind in the process. Climbing the great worn path, she was greeted by the wizened dragon, a haggard breath passed his maw, sighing in relief at her return.

“You have it,” he preened, looking down on the young dragon. “The Kel - the Elder Scroll. **_Tiid kreh...qalos_**. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. **_Kogaan Akatosh._** The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.” Turning away, he pointed to a strange wisp near his ruined wall. It was as if a thin veil was hung in mid air, allowed to be brushed by the mountain air. “Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the scroll to the Time-wound.” Nodding, as Rowena approached the tear, she could feel doubt and fear crawl its way up from her subconscious. What if something went wrong? What if something happened to her? “Do not Delay.” As if sensing her hesitation, Rowena looked to Paarthurnax, his gaze to the skies. “Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

Nodding again, Rowena stepped into the wound. It didn’t feel any different, maybe slightly colder but nothing of note; until she opened the scroll. Her vision became a blinding white, like looking straight into the sun. Jaw slack and eyes wide, her mind and soul shot through the wound and into the past. She could barely comprehend the events unfolding before her. Three Nords...Dragons scattering in the sky, their roars and shouts rocked her bones, only giving her a glimpse of the war unfolding around her. But as she watched, catching the faces of the human fighters, her memories erupted of a time long forgotten.

Hakon One-Eye, a Nord hero and master of the battleaxe. She recalled a time drinking with him, the hall where they resided was left in a shroud but gave enough clarity to see her win their little bet.

Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, a heroine and thrived off the battles around her. Rowena recalled their arm wrestles and the laughter of their company. She felt drawn to the ancient woman, like a sister or dear dear friend.

Felldir the Old, a wisen warrior and master tactician. Another memory arose from his face, his smile was warming like a father’s or grandfather’s. Watching as the tongues sang and drank with her.

Then came the words. She could feel their taint invading her mind, giving her the understanding only a human could know. Subjugation, oppression, Mortal. Their hate for the dragons, their need to enforce will on them, to bind them to the ground as all mortals were. Alduin soon appeared, wrapped and affected by the cruel shout, subjected to the combatants. Her heart wrenched when she watched Gormlaith get snatched in his massive jaws, crushed by those serrated teeth and thrown aside like rubbish. Felldir retreated to her, the same Elder Scroll she held appeared in his hands, held open while he chanted.

_‘Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract Heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last! You. Are. BANISHED!!_

Rowena gasped as the scroll forced her back to the present, her mind swirling and learning the horrid shout, making her shudder from the sickening well overflowing in her gut. And the sight of Alduin, forced to bow to the scrolls power as he was sent out, yet how did he end up here?

“ ** _Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor_** ,” her mind was freed from her worry and growing discomfort, gasping at the sight of the black terror before her. “My belly is full of your fellow mortals, **_Dovahkiin_**. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!” Alduin beat his wings, taking the winds over the mountain top. Rowena dove aside to miss the devil’s maw, Gormlaith’s death still fresh in her mind.

“ ** _Lost funt_**. You are too late, Alduin!” Paarthurnax took to the air, combating the terror as Rowena regained herself. “ ** _Dovahkiin!_** Use Dragonrend, if you know it!!” Rowena indeed knew but all the same she didn’t wish to use such a wretched shout. Mortal she may be and could comprehend its concepts, but a side of her couldn’t, or refused to. But, just as Alduin hovered in the open to contend with Paarthurnax, Rowena could feel the shout grow in her throat before she heaved a lungful of air.

“ ** _JOOR ZAH FRUL!!!_** ” Like a disease she watched as the shout latched onto Alduin, appearing to steal all strength in his wings and sending him hurtling to the ground. His impact rocked the ground, Rowena only managed to catch herself . Drawing her blade, she took to the beast. Weaving and dodging his blows, she swiped and stabbed at any weak point or anything flesh she could see.

Paarthurnax joined the fray, attacking from the sky and weakening the black dragon further. Before Rowena could land the death blow, the shout wore off and freed Alduin. A low roar bellowed low, throwing Rowena back, giving enough distance to take the wind.

“ ** _Meyz mul, Dovahkiin._** You have become strong,” Rowena sneered at the close purr in his voice, tightening the grip on her Nightingale blade. “But I am Al-Du-In, Firstborn of Akatosh! **_Mulaagi zok lot!_** I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else!”

“Let us test that then!” she snapped, “My blades have drunk deep in the deaths of many, you will not be any different!”

“Such stubborness. You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you...mortal!” With another beat of his wings, Alduin fought the mountaintop gales and disappeared into the dark clouds above. Stripped of her victory, Rowena merely growled, sheathing her sword and turning to Paarthurnax. No words needed exchanging as she observed and checked the elder dragon for any injuries. Though unpractised in restoration, she tried at the very least to heal her mentor.

“ ** _Kog hi, hin dremsilaar haalvut_** (Bless you, your kindness is touching),” the elder smiled, lowering his maw to gently nudge the woman. “ ** _Lot Krongrah_** (Great Victory) You truly have the Voice of a **_Dovah._** Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”

“But Paarthurnax, Alduin escaped. This isn’t really a victory,” Rowena frowned, taking a seat by the elder dragon, her mind wandering to the other so called ‘victories’ she had attained. With each came its own failure; Duneyrr for one. The stag’s death still lingered on her, bringing her soul down into mourning her beloved companion. Her mind wandered then to all the dragon’s she had fought, where she could have spared their lives and not need to kill them. But they would not relent and forced her hand.

“ ** _Ni liivrah hin moro_** (Don’t diminish your glory). True, this is not the final **_Krongrah_** \- victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle,” his sage words humbled Rowena, starting to see the good in this victory, but it did little to curb her own guilt and remorse for those fallen in her stead. “Alduin was always **_pahlok_** \- arrogant in his power. **_Uznahgar paar_** (Unbridled Ambition) He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the **_Dov_** who serve him.”

“Then, now I must find where Alduin went before he can consolidate his power,” standing, her resolve leaving her grieving aside, she turned to her mentor. “Paarthurnax, do you know where he might’ve flown to?”

“Hmmm...yes. Perhaps one of his allies could tell us. But it will not be so easy to convince one of them to betray him. **_Motmahus_** (Slippery).” Paarthurnax gaved out from the peak, looking out to the vast land below. “Perhaps the ** _hofkahsejun_** \- the palace in Whiterun...Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive **_Dovah_**.” Rowena almost fell over in surprise. The house of the Jarl was built to house a dragon? Of all beasts? “A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hmm?”

“Perhaps, but I doubt my Jarl will simply give over aid,” Rowena paced as she pondered the queiry. “With the Civil war, he would be vulnerable to both Stormcloaks and Imperials. I must end this war before asking aid.”

“Then your path is yours to make. **_Gluus wah hi_** (Luck to you) It will not take long before Alduin has regained his strength.” That was a daunting thought. She would have to end or postpone the war as soon as possible to prevent Alduin gaining the upper hand. “ ** _Drem. Faraan hindah_** (Peace. Fortune favors) It took Alduin three seasons to reach the power he had, that is the time you must use to discover his path and discover your destiny.”

“Then I best leave and prepare,” turning once again to the aged dragon, she took him by surprised with her tiny built body embracing his muzzle. A rare show of affection on her part but the elder had not questioned it, simply returning her show of affection with a low purr and nudging her back. Replacing hood and cowl, Rowena began her decent. She had unfinished business to conclude and to utilise what resources she had to find the war’s end and the name of Alduin’s ally to call on.

It was going to be a long unending season.


End file.
